


Motel California

by Stale_Cinnamon_Roll



Series: Mithridatism [5]
Category: Z Nation (TV)
Genre: 10k's limited vocabulary, 10k-centric, AU - Altered 10k Backstory, Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Communal Bathing, Gen, M/M, Pre-Slash, Set between EP105 and EP106, Sharing a Bed, Sorry Not Sorry, Two Tropes; Two Jokes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-04
Updated: 2020-04-05
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:14:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 20,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22550815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stale_Cinnamon_Roll/pseuds/Stale_Cinnamon_Roll
Summary: How long has it been since they've slept in a bed? Like, an actual mattress and blankets bed, not the truck bed.Spotting a run down motel while driving down a backroad, Warren is prepared to do anything she has to to get Garnett to agree to check it out. Maybe stay the night if it's suitable.After he agrees much more easily than she was expecting, the real task begins:Who sleeps where?-----Set between episodes 105 and 106, this came into being after the author realised they had two jokes that wouldn't fit elsewhere in the series, thus cobbled them together with two tropes and dared to call it a story.
Relationships: 10K/Murphy (Z Nation)
Series: Mithridatism [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1442032
Comments: 51
Kudos: 147





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Addy enjoys the show.
> 
> Then, Garnett gets cockblocked by maths.
> 
> Finally, Addy decides to play a game.

_You need to up your vocabulary, boy. You can’t walk around letting people think you’re stupid. Expand your horizons. Besides, it’s fun to call people names they have to look up to realize they’ve been insulted._

_\- Sherrilyn Kenyon, Infinity_

“So… This Rambo dude’s just tryna live his life?”

Doc nods, sending a weary smile over to 10k. “Yeah, and when he gets to town–”

“Those cops attack him.”

Addy cannot help but give an impish little grin of her own as the old guy’s falters. Doc had made such a valiant effort at explaining the first ‘ _Rambo_ ’ movie, but this is the one thing that 10k just couldn’t seem to let go of, much to her and Murphy’s amusement.

Running a hand down his face, Doc looks tired. Haggard, even. Not that Addy could blame him, really. Any of his original eagerness at 10k’s questions has been long wiped away, leaving in its place only the despondence of a man finally resigned to such a tedious fate.

“Yeah… Yeah, but it’s _just_ a movie, so their characters were exaggerated, made to be the worst of the worst. They’re not _all_ like that, kid. These were just… bad cops.”

With a short snort, 10k shoots Doc an incredulous look. “No such thing as a _good_ cop.”

As a long, drawn out sigh escapes him, the old guy glances over at Addy and then, rather reluctantly, Murphy. Doc must be getting desperate if he’s willing to beseech even that arrogant convict for mercy. “They’re still people, though, just trying to–”

“Wait, wait, wait.” Murphy shifts in his corner of the truck bed, leaning in closer to 10k and throwing a possessive arm around his shoulders. “Princess here’s got a point. I mean, _I’ve_ never met a cop I didn’t hate.” With that typical sleazy grin of his sliding into place, the man raises a suggestive eyebrow. “Well, there was one, working at this, ah, _gentlemen’s_ club. Officer Merlot. She had the most amazing…” As his gaze flickers towards Doc’s stern face, Murphy straightens up, clearing his throat. “… _Smile_.”

And Addy laughs, the sound ringing honest and free. She’s enjoying this. All of it. But especially how the man’s awkward swerve out of Doc’s disapproval flew right over the kid’s head, 10k now casting a rather confused look around the truck bed. He really can be a bit oblivious at times. It’s kind of cute, honestly.

Pulling her jacket in tighter, a vain attempt to shelter herself from the wind’s bite, Addy’s amused eyes meet Murphy’s. “Spoken like a true jailbird.”

“Hey! I’ll have you know that I’ve only been _arrested_ once.”

“Usually good at covering your ass, then?”

“The best.” Releasing the kid from his clinging – though no doubt warm – embrace, Murphy instead now leans across the bed towards Addy, his voice dropping to a stage whisper. “If anyone ever starts a conversation with ‘ _hey, remember when_ ’, I guarantee you they’re wearing a wire.”

Oh, Cassandra was _so_ right: sitting in the truck bed with these guys is _totally_ worth it. Sure, the wind can whip her hair up into a frenzied mess, and she has to hold her breath as the truck careens passed a pile of corpses or a pack of Zs lest she risk inhaling a fly or two, but that is such a small price to pay for a front row seat to this show. From Murphy’s illicit pre-Z lifestyle rearing its head to affect a corrupting influence, to Doc’s endearingly paternal attempts to shield his cherished 10k’s few remaining shards of innocence, the men’s playfully antagonistic vying for the kid’s attention truly is an amusing scene to behold.

In fact, it may even be entertaining enough to make up for all those damn TV cliff hangers she’ll never get the resolutions for. Seriously, _Game of Thrones_ was such a great show! _I’m still kinda bitter about not getting to see how that series would eventually end…_

And then there is the kid himself! What an enticing mystery he’s turned out to be!

10k doesn’t talk about himself or his past a lot, but the little bits and pieces that have slipped through over time have painted such a peculiar picture. Growing up, it seems like the kid not only lived a heavily sheltered life, but was also home-schooled, though who his teacher was and why they deemed what they taught him to be suitable subjects is still uncertain. He seems well versed in some areas, such as history and a plethora of survival skills, yet remains completely ignorant in others, most notably the arts and pop culture. And, with how he responded to Doc’s masterful retelling of ‘ _Rambo_ ’, there was likely some form of politics mixed up in there somewhere, too. 10k’s pre-Z life has left him with such an odd patchwork of knowledge, one that appears more concerned with prolonging life than enriching it.

Then, and perhaps most importantly, he has only ever mentioned interacting with three people: a father, an uncle, and a friend.

Mack doesn’t haven’t the kindest impression of the kid, believing him to be too much of a risk – to the mission and Addy, both – to be allowed to stay in their fold for much longer. That, whoever 10k was before the Apocalypse, he was likely involved in something dangerous: something that could still be following him through this forsaken landscape; something that has left the kid unstable, unsuitable for the protective role he’s been assigned. Because why else would it seem like he’s spent his life all but sequestered away from the rest of humanity? Fortunately, when Mack brought his concerns up with Garnett – something he’s done on more than one occasion – their leader tried to assuage the blond’s fears, reminding him that 10k has yet to actually do anything to endanger them.

But Addy isn’t naïve.

None of them are.

10k isn’t some little puppy that came wandering in from the cold. He’s an accomplished hunter and marksman, one as capable as Garnett and as calculated as Warren. Perhaps even more so. How else would he have survived this long? Fuck, it’s the same reason _anyone_ has survived, so it doesn’t necessarily make him a bad person. He’s even agreed to help them get Murphy all the way to California! If the kid was the dangerous, self-serving killer that Mack has convinced himself he is, he’d never have stuck around to aid them in their mission.

So, sure, his childhood may be on the extreme end of unconventional, but Addy doesn’t think that it’s made him a danger. Far from it, in fact. She thinks it just made the kid lonely.

Addy idly watches while 10k stretches out his back, his hands clasped and arms aloft. As his bones give a jarring pop and a crack, a small but very satisfied groan escapes his lips, one which earns him a flicker of a side glance from Murphy. The man is chatting to Doc now, the two embroiled in a friendly argument over the pros and cons of Texas Hold ‘Em versus Five Card Draw. The topic seems to hold 10k’s interest as little as it does Addy’s, the kid sliding away from Murphy’s side to instead gaze out along the bleak horizon.

But just because Murphy and Doc miss it, doesn’t mean that Addy does. After all, it was one of the things that Cassandra had told her to keep an eye out for. As 10k had slunk across the truck bed, he’d used his movements to disguise his actions, slipping a nimble hand in close to Murphy to deftly whisk away the man’s water bottle.

It’s impressive, really, the ease at which the kid had attained his prize. Murphy is wary of anyone who sits close to him, a likely hold over from his stint in jail. But not 10k. Seems the man trusts him. Well, enough to let his guard down around him, at least.

And the kid doesn’t abuse that trust, either, waiting for Murphy’s debate with Doc to grow sufficiently heated that the man would fail to notice 10k’s booted foot inching towards him, his toe nudging a clear plastic bottle into the space previously occupied by the steel one.

As 10k turns from the man, quietly unscrewing the metal cap to take a gulp of water, Addy cannot help but smile. A real one, full of a joy that warms her heart. “I’m guessing you’ve always been a bit of a rebel, then. Trying to take down The Man. Fight the System.”

Bottle now stealthily secured in his bag, 10k flashes her a crooked grin as he tugs his blue scarf tighter around himself. “No system but the ecosystem.”

~*~*~

A motel.

The last refuge of the desperate, the down on their luck, and those cursed to a life on the road.

So many lives pass through those doors, hiding away from both the world and themselves, seeking sanctuary within dingy walls, resting their weary souls on well-worn beds and time-stained sheets. Not the sort of place one would choose to end up yet one where many had found themselves arriving, nevertheless.

As Warren pulls the truck into the lot, she takes it all in.

The single storey building with peeling, yellowed paint. The windows, half of which are boarded up with rotting panels, the rest gated behind rusting wrought iron. The neon sign, long gone dark, propped up against the poles that once held it aloft with an undeserved pride. It’s the kind of place that would have been run down even before the Apocalypse. Which means it’s probably in as good a shape now as it was back then.

But, despite all the faults and flaws and very obvious shortcomings, it has been long enough since Warren had slept in an actual bed that the motel straight up looks like Paradise.

It doesn’t take her long to convince Garnett that they should stay.

“It’s a bit early to be stopping for the night. Barely passed noon. So much for the importance of making the cure…”

Warren slams the truck door hard, turning her stern eye towards Murphy. The arrogant bastard is draped over the side of the truck bed, the only one of their travelling companions still in the damn thing. Everyone else has already dismounted, weapons at the ready, eager to move in and clear the area of Zs. “You’re more than welcome to sleep in the truck. With how little you actually do around here, you’re the _least_ deserving of a bed.”

“That wouldn’t be fair on 10k, though.” Addy’s voice is light, the redhead grinning from the kid’s side, casually twirling her bat. “No way he’d let Murphy stay out here by himself.” Tilting her head up, Addy turns to face 10k. “When was the last time you slept in a bed, anyway?”

The kid’s eyebrows drop low, a gentle frown tugging at his lips. “Dunno. Few years, maybe?”

“Oh, wow. Well, that settles it, then. Murphy’ll _have_ to sleep inside, if only for Ten’s sake.”

It’s nice to see those two getting along. 10k has really come into his own recently, now that he’s making an effort at spending more time with other people. Warren has no doubts that they’ve got Cassandra to thank for all this. As close as the young woman is with the kid, she fortunately has no problems sharing her dearest companion with the rest of the group, pushing him to be a bit more social each and every day.

Unfortunately, the same cannot be said about the blond man glaring from Warren’s side. Mack has always been overprotective of Addy, the two of them practically joined at the hip since they helped each other survive Day One. He’d even spent all this morning’s drive glancing out the back window, checking on those sat in the truck bed. But his redheaded girlfriend has always been a free spirit so, if Mack isn’t careful, he could make her feel trapped, maybe even push her away…

Striding over to Garnett, Warren decides to help the young woman out a bit. Let her stretch her legs in fresher company. Catching the man’s kindly eyes, she nods her head in Addy and 10k’s direction. “Charlie, how about we mix up the teams a bit? See how they fair.”

And he smiles at her, his handsome face warm and bright. “Good idea. You want to do the honours?”

“Sure do.” Turning to the pair leaning up against the back of the truck, Warren barks out her order. “Addy. Take Rambo and scout out the back of the motel. Check for anything useful, take out any straggling Zs, then meet us back here at the front. And don’t hesitate to call for backup.”

“On it!”

Pulling away from the back of the truck, Addy playfully nudges 10k’s shoulder as the kid casts a cursory glance Murphy’s way. Seeing that the man is still lazily lounging in the bed, Ten snatches up his rifle and lopes after the redhead, the two of them disappearing around the side of the motel before Mack can even air his disapproval.

Task complete, Roberta smiles up at Charlie. “So, how do you want to do this?”

Her handsome Sergeant glances around the group, making sure he has everyone’s full attention. “Mack, you stick with Cassandra. Warren, with me. We’ll go in, clear the motel, then check all points of entry are secure. Doc, you hang back with Murphy, but be ready to help out if needed.”

The building was cleared in no time. With not a single Z to be found, this motel is really starting to feel like a Godsend.

Just inside the main entrance is a lobby, sparsely decorated with a couple of tables and a scattering of chairs. Two vending machines have been shoved haphazardly into a corner, one for dusty snacks, the other, cigarettes. Besides the entrance, the lobby has two doors: one behind the front desk, locked and leading into what seems to be an office, the other open and leading into an internal corridor lined with bedrooms. And of the bedrooms, four are still habitable, all doubles.

As long as no one minds sharing, everyone gets a bed tonight.

Staring wistfully through a doorway at an otherwise enticing bed, Warren sighs. If she’s being honest with herself, something she’s been doing a lot more of since they left Castle Point, she’d hoped for… more. A few Zs to fight to work off some steam. A box of treats stashed away in that damn locked office. More beds, so that no one had to share, letting her toy with the idea of sneaking off into Charlie’s room without anyone noticing…

“What do you think about sleeping arrangements?” The man in question presses in close to her under the guise of peering over her shoulder and into the room. Roberta cannot help but lean back into his broad chest, savouring his warmth. “I don’t mind sharing if you don’t…”

It’s tempting. So _fucking_ tempting. To just give in, to say Hell to the pretence, to this demure dance they’ve been performing for what seems like _years_. To finally take the plunge, letting herself have her own chance at happiness, not caring what the others think.

But…

But there are only four beds.

“If I’m with you, Charlie, and Addy’s with Mack, where’s Cassandra going to sleep?”

He leans against the doorframe, lips pursed, considering. “Well, if Cassandra shares with 10k–”

“Erm, no.”

“I’m sure they’ll be fine.”

“Really, Charlie? Don’t you remember what it’s like to be that boy’s age? Because _I_ certainly do. Couldn’t keep my damn hands to myself!”

Charlie’s mouth drops open before quickly snapping shut, the man hesitant to speak, instead staring back down the empty hallway. Finally, he finds his words, letting out a sigh of his own. “Then if you take Cassandra, I’ll have to take 10k, leaving Murphy with Doc.”

Letting loose a soft chuckle, Roberta lifts a hand, pretending to dust off Charlie’s shoulder. “See? That wasn’t so hard, now, was it?” Seems he is as disappointed with the sleeping situation as she is and, well, they _do_ say that God helps those who help themselves… Her hand starts to drift higher, slender fingers tracing soft skin as they advance up the handsome man’s neck, scraping through coarse stubble before sliding into soft, dark curls. “And who knows… Once the kids are all asleep, we might be able to sneak out. Maybe meet up in the lobby…”

His lips part, a whisper of a gasped breath escaping them. He places a rough hand tenderly over hers. Takes it into his own. Steps closer to her, all tall and broad and handsome, gently urging her into the wall behind.

“Roberta… You mean…?”

_Smash!_

A crash of glass.

A cry of pain.

The voice is deep, harsh.

_Murphy’s._

Without a second thought, the two soldiers peel themselves off the wall and tear down the hallway, bursting back into the lobby, guns raised and ready, finding–

Finding Murphy staring back at the them, wide eyed as he sucks at a bleeding knuckle, his other hand pulling back from the shattered front of the vending machine, a dusty bag of trail mix clutched between his greedy fingers.

The bastard.

The inconsiderate _bastard_!

As Warren – very _fucking_ reluctantly – holsters her weapon, the arrogant asshole only shrugs, uncaring as he turns back to rummage through the vending machine.

“What? Like I’d still have a quarter…”

~*~*~

It’s quiet.

Annoyingly so.

Addy hasn’t had many opportunities to watch 10k take out some Zs – something besides him sniping them from a distance, that is – so she’d been really hoping that scouting out the area around the motel would finally be her chance to see it up close.

But, nope. Nada. Not a single zombie in sight.

In fact, the kid isn’t even on guard, rifle slung absentmindedly across his back as he peeks behind bushes and gazes up into trees. He’d spied a little copse behind the motel, making a beeline for it once they’d realised that the back lot was devoid of anything undead. Addy didn’t complain or resist when 10k had taken off without a word – after all, there could have been some Zs hiding in amongst them!

Sadly, there wasn’t.

That doesn’t mean that this had been a wasteful tangent, though, as she instead took her enjoyment in watching Ten enjoying the greenery. How he silently toes his way through the patchy grass, each step deliberate in its grace. How he delicately traces his fingers along the rough bark of every tree he passes close to. How he stoops low, plucking mushrooms from near the roots and stashing them away inside his bag. Addy hasn’t seen someone so relaxed, so completely at ease, since the Apocalypse began…

She’s glad she got to witness this. Not as good as seeing him kill a few Zs, sure, but still satisfying, nonetheless.

“Find anything interesting?”

10k turns back from the bush he’s peering through, a soft, crooked grin firmly in place. Without uttering a word, he waves her over, a sleek black feather delicately clutched in his gloved hand.

Crouching at his side, Addy pulls a few branches back, following the kid’s hand as he points further into the thicket. It takes her a while to spot it, her eyes not as keen as 10k’s when it comes to deciphering the intent behind Mother Nature’s design. But, when she finally sees it, she wonders how it was ever something she’d be able to miss. A neat little bundle, sticks and twigs woven precociously together, framed by a smattering of feathers.

“Is that… a nest?”

The feather twirls between 10k’s fingers, catching the sunlight in a flash of blue-green iridescence. “ _Corvus brachyrhynchos._ ”

Well, there goes his patchwork of knowledge, casually rearing its head once more. At Addy’s puzzled look, the kid just smiles, rising back to his feet and offering her a hand up – one she gladly accepts – before lifting his gaze into the tree branches above. “Crows. More nests up there. Not too old, maybe from last nesting season.”

“And that’s a good thing?”

“Yeah. Wouldn’t nest here if they didn’t feel safe.”

So, not likely to encounter any Zs today, then. Damn. Looks like she’ll have to wait until next time they’re partnered up to finally observe him at work… “How many have you killed, anyway?”

10k frowns, his footsteps faltering as he glances at the feather in hand. “…Crows?”

“Oh, no. I meant Zs.”

With a quiet hum, the kid keeps walking through the trees, his head tilting as if straining to hear something in the distance. “…One thousand, nine hundred and thirty.”

Shit, really? He’s almost at two thousand already? Wasn’t he only just passed the one thousand mark when they first met? Now Addy _seriously_ wants to see how good it’s made him… She’s heard Cassandra singing his praises for weeks. Nothing wrong with wanting to see it for herself. In a relaxed environment, anyway; one where she isn’t fighting for her damn life…

He doesn’t stop moving, pushing swiftly onward, not even turning back to make sure she’s following. Not that he’d need to, what with her loud footfalls breaking every damn twig in existence.

Then, she hears it, clear as day. The gentle burble of water, flowing unfettered and free. She picks up her pace, pulling level with 10k as he stops atop a verge, smiling down at a break in the green, a curving of sand and stones.

“That’s–”

“A crick. We can bathe!” Ten grins down at her, brushing his fingers along the smooth silk of his scarf as he shifts, gazing up into a soft, blue sky. “Today, too, if we hurry back.”

And just like that, he’s off again, trailing back through the trees with a spring in his step and excitement lighting his eyes. She catches up to him again in no time, her scurrying feet the only pair that disturb the grass, her own delight at the prospect of bathing growing with every beat of her heart.

Her and Mack, all clean and fresh, possibly sharing a _bed_. In this moment, Addy cannot think of anything she could yearn for more.

The kid seems happy, too, his smile both hopeful and serene as it softens his face, accentuating his youth. He’s even still holding onto that feather, the iridescent black dancing between his fingers.

“What you gonna do with that feather? Give it to Cassandra?”

He stares down at his hand, brows lowering, though whether it’s from curiosity or confusion, Addy isn’t sure. “You think she’ll like it?”

“Can’t see how it could hurt.”

10k gives the crow feather a contemplative once over before twirling it one last time, sliding it behind his ear for safe keeping. And as he does so, his smile shifts, becoming something fond. Affectionate. It tugs at Addy’s heartstrings, warming her in a way that she hasn’t felt in a long time.

Not since her brother.

Michael was timid about girls. Kinda like Ten seems to be.

“You really like her, don’t you?”

The look he gives Addy is… unusual, a strange mix of confusion and wariness. “…Y-yeah?”

She’d called it. He’s girl-shy, just like little Mikey. But with how 10k’s spent the last few years wandering alone, plus his isolation pre-Z… Well, such inexperience wouldn’t exactly be strange, right? “Have you ever had a girlfriend, Ten?”

He licks his lips nervously, not able to meet her eye. “…No.”

“How about… kissing a girl? You ever done that?”

Meeting her gaze for a split second, 10k shakes his head before staring back out into the trees.

“Well, don’t worry about it. Plenty of time for that.” Addy sends him a smile, a thankful one, happy that he’d felt safe enough to share with her, even if he feels a bit embarrassed about it. “If you ever have any questions or wanna talk about anything, you can always come to me, you know.”

10k looks at her, now, finally holding her eye, pale grey marred with hesitation. _So, there_ is _something that he wants to ask…_ She shoots him another smile, open and encouraging. One that’s hopeful. One that says that she can be trusted. One that had always reassured her brother.

And it works.

With a quick lick of his lip, a slight tilt of his head, 10k takes a moment to think his question through. To find his words. And his courage.

“What’s… What’s a ‘chaise longue’?”

That’s… certainly not what she expected. Girls and romance and flirting, sure, but _furniture_? Or _home décor_? That’s about as far away from the topic at hand as they could get! And definitely not something that Addy would think the kid would be interested in.

Unless…

“Murphy?”

The short nod and crooked smile are all the answer she needs.

That man _really_ likes playing with 10k, doesn’t he? It’s almost like he gets some sort of twisted pleasure from teasing him. Confusing him. Hell, Murphy is probably purposefully using these words and phrases and damn _idioms_ , fully knowing that his ‘ _Princess_ ’ won’t understand a damn thing that he’s saying.

And what is with that nickname, anyway? Considering the first time Murphy pulled a stunt like that, all the way back in Philly, Ten had freaked out, brandishing a knife, so _why_ would that man be so stupid as to pick ‘ _Princess_ ’, of all things? Addy was going to say something to Murphy about it, she really was, but the longer she put it off, the more she realised that 10k didn’t seem to mind. That the kid had just rolled with it, no protest, like water off a duck’s back.

Addy glances over to him, that feather looking ridiculous as it sticks out from behind his ear. _Well, water off a_ crow’s _back…_

“A chaise longue? Kinda like a long, old timey chair? One you’d drape yourself over rather than sit.”

10k’s brows shoot up, his pale eyes flashing with surprise before a twinkle of amusement dances in, that crooked smile growing wider as his face ducks down and out of sight. And Addy wants to know, so badly. She wants to know what kind of conversations those two are having while alone. She wants to know why Murphy would bring up furniture, of all things. And she wants to know why her answer had made 10k smile so beautifully.

She cannot actually ask, though, can she? Ten isn’t always this receptive of her questions, after all. Anyone’s questions. Except maybe Murphy’s. Because, for some unknown reason, the kid trusts him.

But then that man takes that trust and uses it to give 10k a stupid nickname, all while amusing himself by harmlessly taking advantage of the kid’s ignorance.

Well, that’s just not fair, is it? Why should only _Murphy_ get to have some fun?

Maybe Addy could give their arrogant prisoner a little taste of his own medicine…

“You know, Ten. If Murphy’s nicknames ever get to be a bit _too_ much, there _is_ an easy way to get him to stop.”

The smile that slides onto her face is sweet.

Sweeter than it has any right to be.

“Just call him ‘ _Daddy_ ’.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this story is gonna be a bit different from the others so far as it's the first set entirely out of any episodes and/or canon events.
> 
> Please, let me know what you think.
> 
> Next chapter is already half done, so it *might* be on time for once...
> 
> Edit: sorted out all those horrible typos in the third scene.
> 
> <3


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Murphy dusts off his skills as a sommelier.
> 
> Then, once naked, the guys compare scars.
> 
> Finally, Garnett and 10k have a heart to heart.

Garnett toes at the grass, his boots pressing into the soft soil.

It’s peaceful here, standing on the fertile bank of the creek that 10k and Addy had found. Well, the ‘crick’, as the kid had goofily put it, beaming at them as he excitedly bounced on his feet, a feather sticking out from messy, black hair. With how happy 10k had looked when he’d informed them that the little stream would be suitable for bathing, babbling on about birds and nests and trees as Addy watches him with fondness… Well, how Garnett say no to him? There was still plenty of daylight left, after all.

The more than eager look that Warren had sent his way had nothing to do with the Sergeants decision. His mind had already been made, so his beautiful second-in-command was simply confirming that his ruling had been the correct one.

They decided that the guys should go wash up first, letting the ladies scope out the bedrooms and stake their claims on where they’d be most comfortable while they wait. Roberta had said that she’d have a go at opening that locked door, too. In case there was something useful in there – water, ammo, stock for the vending machines.

That the office would allow for more privacy than the lobby is simply a bonus…

Garnett pauses on the riverbank, unable to help himself from spending a moment to take it all in. The creek is stunning, its crystal waters bubbling amicably as is meanders over sand and pebbles. A canopy, lush and bright, sways overhead, the vibrant leaves shielding them from the harshness of the early afternoon sun. His nose flares as he breathes deep, the scents swirling around him, all green and brown and _fresh_ , untainted by even a single hint of death or decay. This grove in which they stand truly is a miracle, a little slice of the past, almost as if it’s the single place on the entire planet that has remained frozen in time, existing before Day One.

The sights, the smells, the sounds… All this moment would need is the gentle lilting of bird song and Garnett could pretend that this nightmare had never happened.

He’d forgotten what it had truly felt like to be at peace.

“Just once – _once!_ – I’d like to be able to wash up without freezing my damn ass off. Is a warm bath every now and then too much to ask for?”

Probably because of that…

With a sigh, Garnett turns from the creek to see Murphy giving the clear waters a rather dubious look.

“Aw, come on, man. It’s not that bad!” Doc’s every cheery voice is muffled as the old guy yanks his shirt up over his head. “Free bathing is as good for the soul as it is for circulation.”

Murphy snorts, evidently unimpressed. “Spoken like a man who’s never used _soap_.”

“Takes a while to warm water up.” 10k’s voice drifts over from where he’s leaning his rifle up against a tree. “Cold water gets you just as clean.”

“And _you’ve_ just spoken like a man who’s never had a hot bath.”

As the kid hesitates, tongue sneaking out to lap nervously at his lip, Murphy balks.

“You _can’t_ be serious… What the fuck kind of upbringing did you even have? Wait, wait. You _do_ actually know what a bath is, right?”

“Yeah.” 10k stands his ground, jaw set and eyes determined, but as Murphy’s stare draws on, the man becoming more and more doubtful with every second that passes, the kid eventually cracks, his gaze faltering before finally dropping to the grass. “I… I’ve seen a picture…”

“Of a bath?” Doc paused in his hasty undressing, apparently as curious as the rest of them at this… development. “What kid of picture are we talking about, here? Was anyone in the bath?”

10k nods. “A woman.”

This gives Doc pause before a smile slowly snakes its way across the old guy’s ace, equal parts amusement, eagerness, and mischievousness. “A woman? Was she naked?”

Now the kid frowns, his brows pulling in with confusion. “Dunno. She was covered in foam…”

“Foam? You mean, like, bubbles?”

Mack sighs, the sound little more than a groan, a clear-cut sign of the blond’s mounting annoyance with Doc’s suggestively searching questions. “Where did you see this, kid?”

“Display in a hardware store. Needed a hatchet.”

“Sorry, Doc. The kid didn’t randomly stumble across porn. You’ll have to keep on looking.” And with that, Mack quickly unzips his hoodie, continuing his own efforts at undressing.

Doc’s the first to be ready, unashamed in his nudity as he saunters into the water and sinks down to the riverbed, Mack following shortly after. Garnett cannot wait until he’s shed his grubby clothing and joined them. They’ve been on the road for a while, now, so he hasn’t had an opportunity to wash up thoroughly since this Mission began. He’s more than enthusiastic at the prospect at finally being able to scrub away at the build-up of dirt and grime.

But as the Sergeant drops his own shirt to the grass, he casts a glance over at their youngest. At 10k. The kid is still fully dressed, having only deposited his bag before stooping low to pick nervously at his boot laces, eyes darting around the group.

Is 10k shy? Surely, he doesn’t have a problem with bathing communally, right? After all, he was the one who pointed out the creek to them, and he’d never spoken up or shied away as they made plans and divided up by sex.

Or…

Or could this have something to do with the kid’s sexuality…?

“I’m starting to think that we should have all come together. Bathed as one big group. For the women’s benefit, of course. Safety in numbers and all that.” Murphy’s arrogant tone draws all eyes to him. Dropping his leather jacket to the dirt, the man grins at the glare he receives from Mack. “Oh, put that ever so fierce scowl away, blondie. I’m not interested in your little firecracker of a girlfriend. Never been a fan of stale beer…” Catching Garnett’s eye, Murphy’s smirk only grows, his eyes dark, amused. “But Warren? Now, _she’s_ more to my taste. Almost like a fine wine, that one. Maybe a, what? Sauternes? You know, something with a–” He lifts his hands, flittering them suggestively over his chest. “– _fuller body_.”

“Murphy!” The growl tears its way up Garnett’s throat, a snarl that makes the vulgar man freeze. “That’s enough.”

Casting a quick glance the kid’s way, Murphy simply shrugs, a hollow attempt at nonchalance falling into place as he kicks off his worn out sneakers. “Just making conversation…”

Loosening his belt buckle so that his pants can join his shirt in the grass, Garnett sends his own curious gaze 10k’s way. The kid is barefoot now, likely having tugged his boots and socks off during Murphy’s crude display. His scarf is lovingly folded, too, resting atop his well-worn bag, his black gloves neatly stacked on top of blue. But as 10k begins to open his own belt, his hands falter, eyes wide as they zero in on something nearby.

On Murphy.

The sleazy guy has removed his shirt, standing bare chested on the riverbank, all eight bites in full view. Bites that 10k has never seen. At least, that’s why Garnett hopes he’s staring… They’re a nasty sight to behold, those bites, and one that Garnett had never quite managed to forget. How the man’s abdomen and chest is gnarled and discoloured, the skin pulled taught by violent swathes of scar tissue.

The kid’s interest, obviously, doesn’t escape the notice of its target.

Murphy rolls his eyes, a fair attempt to hide his discomfort at the attention. “I’d tell to take a photo as it’ll last longer, Princess, but I doubt a luddite like you’ll know how to do that.” When 10k doesn’t react, eyes still glued with fascination to Murphy’s mutilated torso, the man presses on. “You _do_ know what a camera is, right? Or would a daguerreotype be more your speed?”

Having finally seen his fill, 10k shrugs, turning without a word to his pile of belongings, stripping off his remaining clothes with little fanfare before wading into the water, ignoring the silence that had fallen over the creek.

A silence that is almost as shocked as it is pained.

Because Murphy isn’t the only one with scars.

10k’s skin is pale, his muscles defined, a modest gathering of moles gracing one side. But that’s not what captures Garnett’s attention. Most of the scars aren’t immediately obvious, silvered with age where they crisscross his abdomen. Some are simply small despite their numerousness, a soft pink constellation along a hip and a thigh. Others are brighter, darker, more noticeable: a nick over a shoulder blade; a shirt slice near a kidney; a bullet graze along a bicep.

The scars are as varied as they are numerous, but only one part of 10k draws the Sergeant’s sorrowful eye. The kid’s forearms, upon which the outsides are interwoven with long, thin stripes of silver, though one is still an angry red. The longer the man looks at them, taking them in, the tighter his jaw clenches.

Garnett knows defensive wounds when he sees them.

“Damn, kid…” Doc tries to hold his voice steady but the quiver underneath the artificial calm is unmissable. To Garnett, at least. He’s heard the old guy talk down many an aggrieved newcomer back at their former camp, trying to sooth them as he delicately pries out information to know how to best help them with their traumas. “Some of those look pretty nasty. Can I ask what happened?”

10k sends a tentative glance around all the men watching him before dropping his gaze, resigned. “Before the Zs, I’d only used a knife as a tool.” He sinks lower into the water, most of his chest now submerged. “Didn’t learn fast enough.”

And with that, the kid dunks his head under the water with finality, ending Doc’s inquisition before it could fully begin.

It doesn’t take them long to wash up and redress, wanting to leave as much daylight for the ladies as they can.

Well, it doesn’t take Doc and Mack long.

When Murphy first crawled out of the water, he just couldn’t keep his damn mouth shut. It was like he was purposefully trying to wind them up or something, which meant that Garnett had to split his attention between drying himself off and keeping that arrogant asshole in check. Once Murphy had finally settled down, even 10k was more dressed than the Sergeant. But the kid had quite a few layers to don, never mind weapons to stash about his person, so it was clear that the two of them would be the last to finish up.

So, to try and keep the peace and make sure that Murphy wouldn’t set Mack off should the asshole try and start shit again, Garnett sent Doc and Murphy back early with orders to give the ladies a heads up, then to get started on cooking.

Unfortunately, this left Murphy milling about in boredom, staring wistfully at Doc’s back as the old guy trudges off up the trail towards the motel. Garnett would have sent Murphy along with Doc instead of Mack, but the young man was already growing antsy at having been away from Addy for too long…

Murphy glares over at 10k, the kid taking his time tight-lacing his boots, blasé in his shirtlessness in a way that makes Garnett think that it wasn’t his scars that bothered him.

“Could you hurry it up, pretty boy? Being cold is bad enough, but now I’m starting to get hungry, too. And trust me – I am fully prepared to let you shoulder all the blame should I get desperate enough to try taking a _bite_ out of you!”

Now, Garnett is sure that calling the kid ‘ _Princess_ ’ is a completely conscious decision on Murphy’s part but, sometimes, the man says little things here and there that have started to chip away at the Sergeant’s confidence. That the man doesn’t even seem aware he’s saying it.

Case in point: ‘ _pretty boy_ ’.

10k straightens up, eyes wide, brows high, a deceptively shy smile curling his lips. “You think I’m pretty?”

“What? No, kid, that’s not what I said!”

Murphy’s face is aghast as he glances over to Garnett, obviously hoping the Sergeant would back him up. But, nope – _sorry, Murphy, that technically is what you said._ Garnett is staying out of this one, an impartial spectator, simply observing the scene developing before him. Anyway, why would he help Murphy out? The asshole had been insulting Addy before making indecent insinuations about Warren! As far as Garnett is concerned, Murphy’s on his own dealing with whatever the kid deems fit to throw at him.

The realisation that backup isn’t coming flashes through Murphy’s eyes, the man’s jaw tightening as he turns back to 10k. “Well, yeah, okay, that _is_ what I said. But it’s not what I _meant_.”

Brows dipping low as a frown tugs his lips downward, the kid keeps his eyes trained into Murphy as his head drops, crestfallen. Or, at least, an _almost_ perfect facsimile of dejection. One that Murphy is too flustered to see through.

“So… You _don’t_ think I’m pretty…?”

Mouth wordlessly dropping open, Murphy quickly snaps it shut again, his jaw tense and tight. Scraping his hands along his stubbly scalp, the man clearly regrets shaving now that he doesn’t have any hair to tear out in his frustration. Finally, Murphy makes his up his mind as to the best course of action, spinning on his heel and skulking after Doc and Mack, their backs just visible as they amble through the trees.

And just like that, Garnett finds himself alone with 10k, watching a rather pleased smirk disappear under the kid’s shirt as he quickly returns to dressing.

Seeing a smile like that, the man pulls his own shirt into place as he lets his curiosity finally get the better of him. “You like Murphy, don’t you?”

“Yeah, I do.” 10k’s voice is steadfast, resolute, carrying a certainty that can only be borne from self-confidence and self-acceptance. “But not in the way you like Warren. Murphy’s just fun to annoy. And look at.” The kid pauses, the hint of a frown tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Well, before he shaved…”

“You liked his hair?”

“Beard.”

_Huh, that’s handy to know. Maybe I can find Murphy a pack of razors next time we pass through a town…_

“And that’s all it is? You don’t want anything more?”

10k’s eyes wander over to him, gliding down Garnett’s body, leaving the man with the distinct impression that he’s being inspected. Scrutinised. _Sized up_. And the Sergeant doesn’t know how to feel about it. Yeah, he knows 10k doesn’t view him as a threat, and he himself doesn’t think of the young man before him as such, but… But, right now? Garnett isn’t so sure…

When 10k finally meets his gaze, it’s with a raised eyebrow, amusement twitching at his lips. “I don’t pursuit straight men.”

Well, that’s… certainly a relief. And not just for himself, but for the kid and the cure, too. Murphy had reassured Garnett that he’s let 10k know that he’s not interested. As long as the man wasn’t lying to him – something that the Sergeant has been worried about, what with how close those two have gotten recently – 10k’s not likely to ‘pursue’ his burgeoning attraction to Murphy. Not with how the kid has just claimed to respect people’s boundaries.

“So, it’s just physical? You don’t love him?”

10k scoffs, snatching a necklace from near his bag, deftly looping it over his head and stuffing it under his shirt. “Not interested in _that_.”

“What, at all or… or anymore?”

Pale eyes wince, dropping to the kid’s feet. No, not his feet. To the scarf, lovingly folded and delicately enthroned on top of his bag, protecting it from the dirt beneath. 10k adores that scarf, trying to not let it get too dirty then cleaning it as soon as possible when it inevitably does. He even washes it at the expense of his own drinking water… With how protective he is over it, and how worn out certain sections of the silk have become, it’s obvious that the scarf has been cherished for quite some time. The Sergeant isn’t sure if the kid is even aware if it, but 10k’s hands frequently seek that scarf out, as if searching for reassurance. Or comfort.

Garnett stoops, gingerly sinking his fingers into the soft blue silk, lifting it with care before passing it over to its attentive guardian.

“Was this his?”

As his gloved hands reach out and 10k gives a shallow nod, one that’s barely more than a twitch of his head, Garnett pushes just a little bit more. Because the man knows. He knows what it’s like to lose someone you love dearly. He knows what it’s like to try and find a way to fill the void they leave in your heart. And he knows what good it can do to talk about them, to share the memories formed at their side and celebrate the life that they lived.

By the looks of if, it seems 10k wasn’t as lucky as Garnett when it came time to mourn. The kid was probably alone when he walked down that dark path, whereas the Sergeant had had Warren. Then Doc. Addy and Mack, too.

But it’s never too late to heal. To let the wound start to close. To let your heart start to repair as your soul reconciles the loss. Then, once all that remains is the faded silver of an old scar, an eternal reminder of the love that you once shared…

Well, _that_ is when you can start to remember how to live.

“What’s his name?”

“…Jeff.”

And Garnett is going to be beside 10k, helping him traverse such a perilous road, supporting the young man through his grief as if he’s the Sergeant’s own son.

Because Ten is fast becoming family, and that’s what family do.

“My wife, Amy, she… She loved to paint. It wasn’t her career or anything, more of a hobby, but she put a little piece of herself into every stroke of her brush.” Ten’s watching him, face open and curious. “Portraits where her favourite. Always said that you can learn everything you need to know about someone from their face, or their eyes. That people are capable of so much more good than anyone realises. She wanted to capture that beauty on the canvas, preserve it for all the world to see. We were actually looking into moving to a larger house – one with space for a studio – when I was recalled to active duty.”

“Jeff wanted to move. To get away from his town.” Ten’s fingers lightly trace the silk as he speaks. The pain is there, shining in his eyes, but at least it’s not alone. Now, that pale grey also holds a warmth. A fondness. A light that Garnett wants to encourage to grow brighter. “Said the only way out was football or theatre so he sang all the time. Told me it takes a long time to master something.” Tugging the scarf around his shoulders, Ten delicately brushes the silk across his lips, mouth curling with affection. “Wanted me to come find him once he left. To keep him grounded when he became famous.”

Now that both men are dressed – and _all_ of 10k’s weapons are securely in place – they begin their trudge back through the trees and across the back lot of the motel, swathed in a comfortable and somewhat harmonious silence. The few times Garnett steals a glance at the kid, he’s almost convinced he’s looking at another person. One he hasn’t met before yet has always known. One without a shadow flitting across their face, without a hollowness in their eye, and without a monstrous weight crushing their very being.

Now, all he sees when he looks at 10k is serenity – one that can only come from the relief of a burden finally shared – and the seed of a tentative hope germinating in pale grey eyes.

And Garnett wants to ensure that it will one day bloom. Longs to be there the day that 10k meets the man with whom he will once again learn how to love.

As they meander around the corner of the motel, spying Murphy and Cassandra lounging just outside the main entrance, 10k tilts his head, licking curiously at his lip as he catches the Sergeant’s eye.

“What’s… What’s a daguerreotype?”

A gentle chime of laughter teasing its way out, Garnett affectionately ruffles damp, black hair.

“Honestly, Ten? I have _no idea_!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Predictably, the chapter count has gone up. I should really just leave that bit blank, shouldn't I...
> 
> Recently, I was told that my hair smells like a Cabbage Patch Doll. Not quite sure how to take that...
> 
> As always, let me know what you think of this chapter, and I'll see ya next time!
> 
> <3


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which 10k thinks they're talking about animals.
> 
> Then, Cassandra deserves an award for Best Wingman.
> 
> Finally, Murphy sweetens up his little Princess.

Garnett leans back, content, the wooden chair creaking underneath him. The furniture’s groan is likely from years of wear and tear but the Sergeant toys with the idea of it being from his weight. After all, the meal that he’s just finished eating is the most filling one he’s had in years.

It was a simple dish, Doc having boiled up the last of their rice using some water carried back from the creek, flavouring it with the handful of mushrooms that 10k had procured from somewhere in his bag.

It was a simple dish. One that Addy had chastised Mack for wrinkling his nose at, the blond having never been too fond of mushrooms. One that Cassandra had savoured, eating her portion almost as lazily as she lay across her chair. One that Murphy, ever the thorn in everyone’s side, had picked at, complaining that the blandness of the meal didn’t make it fit for ‘ _humanity’s damn saviour_ ’, though he quickly changed his tune once 10k had finished his own ration before reaching out expectantly towards what the man had left. One that Doc, always able to see the brighter side of things, had devoured with a smile while watching their antics, though of course Warren could only scowl between bites.

So, yeah. It was a simple dish.

But, with his family safe and happy and _together_ , as far as Garnett is concerned, his bowl of rice might as well have been gourmet.

The chairs in the lobby have been pushed into a rough circle, the tables in the middle holding the cooling pot of rice, the packets of trail mix recovered from the now broken vending machine sitting along side it. Addy and Mack had grabbed their trail mix before attempting to inconspicuously push their chairs away from the others, now practically sitting on top of each other as they eagerly eye the door that leads to the bedrooms. Garnett has noticed their clear enthusiasm for an early night, so he’ll make sure that he doesn’t keep them waiting for too much longer.

His has his own rendezvous, later, after all…

At his side, Roberta takes a sip of her water as she smiles warmly over at 10k and Cassandra. The young woman is pressed in close to the kid, Murphy naturally lingering nearby, both of them watching with interest as nimble, gloved fingers fiddle with that black feather. Seems that 10k is as good with knots as Doc claims, the kid having pulled a thin length of leather cord from somewhere before proceeding to wrap it around the quill end, fashioning the feather into a necklace.

All of this, because Cassandra had voiced her worries of losing the thoughtful little gift that 10k had presented to her.

Warren’s voice is warm, brimming with as much affection as it does curiosity. “Looks like you’ve done that before, Rambo.”

10k doesn’t look up, his words calm and careless, mind focused entirely on the task set before him. “We used to make them all the time. Carved bone and antler, too.”

Garnett lifts his brows, curious. “Who’s ‘ _we_ ’?”

“Me and Pa. Made ‘em to sell.”

 _So, he_ does _have a memento from his father, too…_ Garnett had been wondering about that since this afternoon, when he’d learnt that the kid’s beloved scarf had once belonged to his boyfriend. It’s likely, then, that that necklace that the Sergeant had seen 10k hastily shove under his clothing as they talked has a connection to his father. Maybe it’s one that the man had made for his son. One that 10k has seen fit to keep a hold of all these years.

Garnett has found that it’s pretty normal for survivors to want to hold on to little keepsakes of their former lives, at least until they found a new place to call home, new people to think of as family.

And the Sergeant himself is no exception: it had taken him more than a year to even _think_ about removing his wedding ring.

Murphy slithers over the chairs, creeping up behind the kid to frown over his shoulder, the man’s expression more doubtful than mocking. “Can’t imagine you’d make much, not if you’re selling in some dingy little hunting town.”

Tugging at his knots, ensuring that they are secure, 10k simply shrugs. “Not much, but it was enough. Sold other things, too. Used all of the animal.”

“Ah, so you’re _that_ kind of hunter, huh? Killing out of necessity rather than pleasure, then insisting you use ever last piece of the animal, appeasing its spirit and ensuring its sacrifice wasn’t in vain.” Leaning away from 10k and back into his own chair – though Garnett cannot help but resentfully note that the man keeps his arm pressed along the kid’s side – a more familiar smirk slides its way across Murphy’s lips. “Probably a good thing that you were dragged up in some shit hole of a one-horse town and not the big city, then, kid. Bet you’d have been like one of those crazy old broads, feeding a flock of birds and snatching up any and all strays stupid enough to get within grabbing distance of your hoarding hands, calling them your children, not pets. What do ya think? Sound about right?”

10k delicately passes the feathered necklace over to Cassandra and watches as the young woman loops it on with glee before he glances over his shoulder at Murphy. “Never had a pet.”

The man’s amused smirk only grows, now showing slightly too many teeth, eyes twinkling just a little too bright. “Not what I asked, Princess.”

“What about you, Murphy?” Cassandra chimes in, drawing the man’s prying gaze towards herself. “Did you have any pets?”

Murphy’s laugh is little more than a sharp bark, a clear indicator that the young woman’s gamble had paid off – 10k is no longer in the hot seat. Because Murphy has an opportunity to talk about his favourite subject: himself.

“Like I’d have the patience! Do I strike you as the altruistic, nurturing type? Anyway, this is _my_ life, and I refuse to be relegated to a side character in my own damn story. That means no animals and _definitely_ no kids. Why the fuck would I keep something around if it’s no use to me?”

Garnett cannot help the dry chuckle that escapes him. Of course, a man like Murphy _would_ think like that. Would be so mercenary, only caring about what he himself could get out of a relationship, not even considering the benefits of compassion. It comes as no surprise what so ever to the Sergeant that Murphy would be so myopic as to not see the rewards of companionship and camaraderie, to see the value in forging bonds of trust with those around him, even with a soul as kindly as Doc and a kid as loyal and trustworthy as 10k both smiling him right in his smug face…

That man doesn’t deserve the efforts of either of them.

Rolling her eyes, Warren throws back the last of her trail mix before turning to face Murphy. “Now, why am I not surprised? They say that it’s the animal that picks the owner, and no beast on God’s green earth would be so stupid as to pick an arrogant asshole like _you_.”

Shooting her a sour look, Murphy grabs his – or 10k’s? – water bottle from the table before folding himself up in his chair, clearly sulking.

Beside the man, the kid shifts. Not enough to catch the attention of those around him, but Garnett sees it anyway. He was waiting for something. Watching out for it. Because he’s almost come to expect it, now. 10k keeps his eyes diligently focused on Cassandra, smiling as she openly admires her new necklace, while he tilts ever so slightly to press an inquisitive knee into Murphy’s thigh. And Murphy? He twitches his leg, a gentle nudge sent back towards the kid. It’s a silent question with a silent response, though it’s ones that they both hear loud and clear, 10k straightening up in his chair once more and finally giving Cassandra his undivided attention.

It’s strange how those two so quickly fell into a habit of checking up on each other: after a run-in with some Zs; after splitting up to scavenge in different groups; even after riding in separate sections of the truck. Now, it’s evolved into a feat that they seem to be able to manage discreetly, something that they accomplish without even a passing glance, never mind an exchanging of words.

And to think, this all started when the man had straightened out Ten’s scarf after thinking that the kid had died back at that refinery…

That they have since grown close is plain to see, even if the others are more attentive to how the kid has opened up to Cassandra.

But…

Are the two men… _too_ close?

Garnett isn’t sure.

Cassandra cares for 10k, too, getting to know him better than anyone else and _she_ doesn’t seem too worried about it. Plus, 10k had reassured the Sergeant that he doesn’t chase after straight men. And the kid doesn’t seem the type to lie.

_Maybe I’m still being overprotective. It’s just… I can’t help but expect the worst from Murphy…_

On Garnett’s other side, Doc takes a slurp from his soda can, eyes fond as he watches Cassandra expertly prying 10k with further questions. It seems that, while the kid has been carving since he was old enough to hold a knife, his late father was always the better at it. Not that Ten had let it bother him – he’d quickly discovered that he had an affinity for the knots used to tie the cord, soon besting his father, so it all worked out in the end.

Draining the can, Doc squeezes it slightly, crushing the sides inwards before placing it on the tables and reaching for another. There had been a few cans left in the old vending machine – the one that Murphy had interrupted his conversation with Roberta by breaking… Sure, the soda may have been flat, but calories are calories and Doc had jumped at the chance to help himself to a can or three.

Brushing the soft, black barbs of her feather against smiling lips, Cassandra changes to direction of her questioning. “So, Ten. If you could have had a pet, what would you have picked?”

And 10k merely shrugs. “Dunno. Never thought about it.”

“Well, what about a favourite animal? Do you have one of those?”

As 10k’s brows draw low and he licks at the twitch of a frown beginning to spread across his lips, Doc adds another empty can to the others, settling back into his chair as he smiles at the kid’s rather obvious look of deep thought.

Then, once he had gotten himself nice and comfortable, the old guy scratches absently at his beard. “Y’know, kid, I was always a dog man myself. Grew up with a house full of them so I guess it’s all I knew. Didn’t really think much of other animals… until the right cat found me!”

Next to Garnett, Roberta gives a soft laugh, one that it little more than a serene exhalation of air, audible only to Charlie. This is a story that they both knew well, a story that Doc loved to tell around the campfire to any who would listen. Suppose it was only a matter of time until 10k and Cassandra were subjected to it, too.

“It was one of those tough, transitional phases of life. There I was, twenty-nine and fresh outta rehab. And this time? I knew it would be my last time. See, what many people don’t tell ya is that when your whole friend group is involved in the vice, to get clean of _it_ you also have to get clean of _them_. So, I did. Left that town behind and left them behind with it.

“It’s hard being the new face in a new place, no roots of your own to draw from, but I somehow managed to find a dingy little apartment and a job to pay for it. Nothing fancy, just stacking shelves, but I made rent so I couldn’t complain. Real lonely life, though.

“Now, every time I walked home after a shift, I’d stop into this little bodega down on 5th.” With an amused chuckle, Doc throws a grin Cassandra’s way. “That’s the one I told you about, the one with those tuna rolls. Anyway, I’d walk down the alley next to it to get there – shortcut and all that – and every time without fail this scrungy little cat, all grey and matted fur, would yell at me from the dumpsters. We quickly got into a routine: she’d demand attention and I could never say no to a young lady! As I said, was always a dog guy, but right then, in that big, lonely city… Well, I was just happy to see a friendly face.

“Then, one night, she wasn’t there. Didn’t think much of it at first – I mean, alley cats wander, always coming and going, y’know? But after finishing up in the bodega, I dipped back down into the alley. Just to check. And there I found her, curled up and shivering under the dumpster. Managed to wrangle her out and wrap her up in my jacket, taking her back to that empty apartment.

“Didn’t have much in my savings but, after she wasn’t any better by morning, I emptied it all and took her to a vet. A bit hit and miss for a few days, but she was a tough little thing and pulled through. The vet even cleaned her up, scrubbed away years of dirt and grime to reveal the softest, whitest fur underneath. Thought I was looking at a whole ‘nother cat! Had to give her name, so I chose Bo. After where I found her. Then she came home with me. Happily moved in. Sure, she’d still wander, but never for long, and she’d always come back. Fiercely protective, too, judging _everyone_ who stopped by.”

Doc pauses, his kindly eyes framed by fond wrinkles as he watches 10k and Cassandra. The young woman had pulled her legs up under herself, having turned on her chair to watch the old guy, pressing herself back between 10k’s legs. The kid himself had half-turned, one foot pulled up to rest on his chair, the other languidly splayed out, allowing Cassandra to nestle between them while he leans back into the man behind him. And Murphy? Well, he’s trying to play off annoyance at the kid draping himself across him, but the Sergeant could easily see through his act. After all, Murphy’s elbow is propped on the back of his chair, fingers idly teasing at fluffy, black hair.

And that makes Garnett’s eye twitch.

Giving one of his coveted affectionate smiles, Doc continues. “That’s the strange thing about cats, isn’t it? See, with dogs, loyalty is a given cuz they’re pack animals. But cats? Cats are more solitary. So, if ya’re lucky enough to bond with one, especially if they’ve had a life as hard as Bo’s; if they _truly_ come to trust you? Well, as long as you never do anything to betray that trust, that cat will stick with you for life, the cutest little ‘ _ride-or-die_ ’ buddy ya could ever ask for. In the end, me and Bo had eleven years together and, if I’m honest, not sure I woulda made it through the first couple of ‘em without her.”

The Cat Story may be one of Doc’s favourites to tell, but it’s also one of Garnett’s favourites to hear. The story of a lost man trying to better his life and find his place in the world. Of his selfless sacrifice to help another he has no obligation or duty towards, simply because he could. And of the unbreakable bonds that can form when–

“Bears.”

Doc frowns, evidently as confused as the rest of the group at 10k’s sudden interjection. “What’s that, kid?”

10k gives the old guy a small smile, his head nodding once in blatant assuredness. “I like bears.”

With a snort of laughter, one little more than a mocking snigger, Murphy pulls his fingers from the kid’s hair, instead clapping him on the shoulder. “Can’t say that’s much a surprise, Princess, it’s just… Well, I’m not entirely sure why you’d think that’s _relevant_.”

Luckily, most of Garnett’s family have been able to contain their own amusement, both at 10k’s unknowing declaration and at Murphy’s… _crassness_. Even Roberta had managed to hide her stunning smile behind her hand.

So, this can still be salvaged.

Garnett clears his throat. “Why bears, Ten?”

10k glances over at him, his confusion at the others’ reactions painfully clear. “They’re strong, much bigger than me. Makes it more fun taking them down, beating them at their own game and coming out on top.” Cassandra’s shoulders shake as she desperately stifles her laughter, drawing the kid’s brows lower. “Their pelts are useful, too… Fur is soft and thick, good for keeping warm in winter…”

At that, the dam finally breaks. With their boisterous mirth no longer able to be held back, it now bursts forth, flowing free throughout the motel lobby. Roberta is no different from the rest of his family, her chuckles releasing a radiant smile across her lips and a light dancing bright in her eyes. Only Garnett remains present enough to catch 10k’s eye, and when the kid shoots him an almost apprehensive look, questions and confusion both swirling in grey eyes…

Well, the Sergeant can only bring himself to merely shrug.

 _Fuck, I hope the kid doesn’t come to me to ask about_ that _one…_

Garnett glances around the lobby, taking in all the smiling faces. He loves his family, he really does. With what they’ve all been through – and all they still have to come – he really doesn’t want to begrudge them such happiness, not with how fleeting an emotion it has become.

It’s just… He wishes that it didn’t have to be about this, ah… particular topic. Especially when he can already feel the headache it could likely soon cause. They all know that this is going way over the kid’s head, and they all know that he’ll eventually get one of them alone and work up the courage to ask…

What they don’t all know, however, is how _personal_ of a topic this may be for the kid, and with Ten wanting to keep his preferences private, while the Sergeant knows that he’d be better suited to help the kid than most, he _really_ hopes it’s Cassandra that draws the short straw.

_Just… Please, don’t let it be Murphy…_

Wiping a tear of laughter from her cheek, Addy unfolds herself from Mack’s lap, leaning towards the circle of chairs.

“10k. Quick question.”

And, as soon as that impish grin starts to spread across the redhead’s face, Garnett loathes those words before they even leave her lips.

“What do you think of cougars?”

~*~*~

“If that boy comes to _me_ with questions, Charlie, I’m gonna send him right on over to _you_.”

“Roberta, no. What would I even _say_? Fuck, I _really_ hope I don’t have to talk to him about… About _that_ kind of thing…”

“What, would you rather I send him to Murphy?” As Charlie’s handsome face twists into a grimace, Roberta cannot help but to smile. The man at her side had given her such a predictable reaction and, when even such a wry expression is a good look on him, she cannot help but to tease. “Don’t worry about it so much. The kid trusts you, and with good reason. If he does come to you, I’m sure you’ll figure it out. Not like you’re bashful about sex, having already given that birds and bees talk to your own kids. Though… That doesn’t mean I’m not a little curious about how Murphy would answer. I mean, he certainly has a way of bringing another side of our little Rambo out.”

At that, they both turn, gazes falling upon the previously locked door of the motel office. After glaring at that cigarette machine for the hundredth time and finding just as empty as the previous ninety-nine, Murphy had coaxed the kid in close. Rallying Ten to his cause with a few hushed – and likely _goading_ – words, the man had pointed him in the direction of that door and set him loose upon it.

That door that had blocked her from the only room in the motel that she hasn’t scoured.

That door that she had spent ages trying to force open while the men bathed.

That door that barred her and Charlie from a little privacy during tonight’s potential, ah… _liaison_.

Yeah, _that_ door.

The one that 10k had open in seconds.

She really hadn’t expected that. And, judging by the shocked look that Charlie had tried his best to smother, neither had he. 10k’s a good kid. Sure, he’s a little quiet, but he’s kind and considerate, and _certainly_ not the sort to have been embroiled in anything unsavoury or illicit Pre-Z. So, him working that door open so quickly and with such ease doesn’t worry her – if he’s picked up lockpicking from somewhere over the last few years, then it’s likely a skill he’s found beneficial enough while scavenging to have practised.

Roberta’s eyes flicker back over to Charlie, drinking him in. That handsome face framed by lax curls and a beard he endeavours to keep neatly trimmed. Then, there are those broad shoulders of his, and that thick chest… Strong arms…

_Yeah… Think I’ll find that door being unlocked more than beneficial, myself…_

“What do you make of them? 10k and Murphy.”

Warren almost sighs as her amatory daydreaming is cut short, biting it back at the last moment – because, really? Isn’t he over this? – but looking back up at Garnett’s face, she quickly relaxes. There is no guardedness to his gaze, no wariness or suspicion in his expression, and certainly not a single trace of anger. Instead, all she sees there is a genuine inquisitiveness; a curiosity displayed openly and honestly.

“Well, Ten does a good job of guarding him, that’s for sure. Doubt Murphy would make it far if he ever made a break for it. Not that he’d last long without us all there to keep the damn Zs off of him… Other than that, I’m kinda glad the asshole hangs around the kid. Keeps him distracted so he doesn’t go around getting into trouble. Why?”

“Don’t you think that, ah…” Scratching at his beard, Charlie glances over her shoulder, trailing off as his words are pushed aside to instead make room for a warm smile.

“Not interrupting anything, am I?” Cassandra’s voice is uncertain as she drifts over to the chair nearest to them, hesitant to sit down.

“Nothing that can’t wait.”

At Garnett’s reassuring words, the young woman takes her seat, hovering delicately on the edge. “Can I tell you something? About 10k, that is.”

That gets Warren’s attention, Garnett’s odd question quickly forgotten as she sits up straight, only just managing to hold back from leaning in close to Cassandra. “What’s wrong? Is he alright?”

“Oh, no, nothing like that. It’s just… Well, he can have trouble sleeping, especially around others. It’s why he used to always climb trees, sleep apart. Seems to be okay around me and Murphy, though.” She sends Garnett a placating smile, readying him for her next words. “Not that he’d tell you this himself, but I’m not sure he’ll be okay sharing with you tonight and, well, he deserves as good a night’s sleep as any of us.”

Garnett’s brows pull down low, his jaw tightening and lips pressing thin as he stares off at the office door, thoughtful. It doesn’t take him long, however, as he’s soon gently shaking his head, turning once more to Warren–

“Your call.”

–and passing the buck.

Hmm, well… If the kid’s with Murphy, then Charlie will be with Doc and, seeing as the lovable old guy is a heavy sleeper, her handsome Sergeant won’t have much of a problem slipping out, so she herself will only have to find a way to sneak passed Cassandra…

Then again, if she puts 10k in the room with Cassandra, then she can bed down with Charlie, negating any need for stealth as, well, they’ll already be alone together… Though, the others might gossip, or may later use it to accuse Charlie of playing favourites if he takes her side…

She wants to spend the night with Charlie, she really does. To finally get the man alone, to admit to everything she’s been feeling, to give in to this undeniable chemistry that has been building between them for _years_ …

But…

_I can’t put the kid with Cassandra, right…?_

It takes her a few minutes of deliberation to finally make up her mind, Charlie and Cassandra sharing an unreadable look as they await her decision.

Clearing her throat, Warren raises her voice, addressing the room.

“Listen up, people. Slight change of plan.”

~*~*~

Princess is filing his nails again.

Why? Why does he file his nails?

No matter how Murphy looks at it, how he much he _thinks_ about, he just cannot fathom a reason. Because the kid ain’t vain, that’s for sure. Not with _that_ haircut. At least his outfit isn’t as bad as it used to be…

And yet, once a week or so, Murphy has found him perched up somewhere, lost in his own peaceful little world, diligently scraping under his nails before filing away any new growth.

It’s just… So normal. So soft. So… so _feminine_. And Murphy cannot make up his mind whether it suits Ten or not.

Right now, 10k is lounging across two seats, his dirty boots insulting the already shabby upholstery. Because of course he is. No decorum, that one. Maybe Murphy could find a way to train him, to bring him to heel. Clean him up and transform him into someone suitable to dine with at an upscale restaurant. The kid would need a lot of work, work that would take up all these resources that Murphy that doesn’t have, but the man needs _something_ to occupy his mind and ease the temptation of just wandering into the next pack of Zs they find. At least that’ll be quicker than whatever that bitch Merch has in store for him…

His beauty regimen evidently finished for tonight, 10k taps his file on the hard edge of the chair between them, a sprinkling of nail dust falling from the rough surface and further offending the upholstery. Then, without even considering the fact that Murphy is sitting _right next to him_ , Ten draws in a quick breath before blowing hard.

At the dust.

He blew at the dust.

Kicking it up into a sparse cloud that drifted right towards Murphy.

“Do you mind?”

Ten doesn’t even look up from where he’s stashing his stupid file in his stupid bag as he gives his stupid answer.

“No.”

He’s a little shit. He really is. Fuck helping him out – there is no hope for this one. All Murphy can do is keep his distance and pray to whatever gods may be left in this shithole of a world that no one thinks the kid is associated with him in any way, shape, or form. Not like Ten would have known what to do with himself should the man have been able to take him out to one of his favourite spots in Manhattan. Those restaurants probably wouldn’t have even let the scruffy little shit in, deigning to spray him with a hose should Ten have the gall to even _consider_ walking by their door, never mind crossing the threshold.

No, if Murphy was going to take him out to dinner, Ten would likely only be comfortable – or appropriately dressed – for McDonalds or a low-end, salmonella infested all you can eat buffet. Maybe a burger van. That is, the kind of places that Murphy wouldn’t be seen dead in. Or undead. Probably would have been better to just invite Ten over for a dinner date, show off his skills in his bespoke, open plan kitchen. Sure, Murphy isn’t the best cook, but he did perfect a few rather impressive dishes he’d selected specifically to impress the ladies.

Not that 10k is a lady.

Or that Murphy’s interested in him that way.

Probably wouldn’t have even crossed paths if not for the damn Apocalypse.

And that… That doesn’t sit right with him. The thought of never having met 10k. Murphy has been on this damn planet for over four decades at this point, yet in the pitifully insignificant amount of time that he’s spent with him, Ten has given him more kindness, more _compassion_ , than most people the man had known for _years_.

Murphy rubs some specks of nail dust from his pants. Yeah, Ten can be an inconsiderate little shit at times, but the man wouldn’t actually try to change him. It often feels like smoothing out his rough edges or trying to tame that wild, though rather uncouth, side of him would be like declawing a cat. Or caging a mountain lion.

“Why do you do that, anyway? File your nails so obsessively.”

Ten holds up his hands, admiring a job well done, before turning his attention to Murphy’s own, his satisfied smile shifting to a grimace, nose wrinkling. “Why don’t you?”

Murphy eyes his own fingers: the skin chewed and rough, the nails grimy and jagged. He doesn’t have the patience to file and buffer away anything unwanted, not when gnawing away in boredom does the trick. “Because, pretty boy, unlike you, I don’t give a shit.”

Smile twitching once more at his lips, Ten slides his bag back to ground before scooting along his chairs, drawing closer to Murphy. “That’s the second time you’ve called me that.”

“Oh, don’t even _try_ to play coy with me. You know _exactly_ how pretty you are, Princess. It’s not like it was your personality that attracted all those men you’ve fucked.” Murphy hums, tapping a finger on his chin in mock deliberation. “Or did _they_ fuck _you_? Either way, don’t make a big deal of it – I shouldn’t have called you that again. You don’t deserve my admiration, not after trying to sic Garnett on me.”

“You were rude about Addy and Warren.”

“It distracted them, didn’t it? Gave you more than enough time to hide your socks.”

“But you didn’t have to take it that far.”

“Oh, sue me. I haven’t had a damn cigarette in days. I’m allowed to get irritable.”

Murphy glowers over Ten’s shoulder, that damn cigarette machine somehow contemptuous with its very presence. It stands there, all faded wood veneer and painfully empty windows, the brands of smokes it once held displayed proudly along its flank. That machine. That _fucking_ machine. It’s a bastion of uselessness; the utter epitome of false advertising.

And it pisses Murphy off every time he looks at it.

“What about the office? It’s where I’d check.”

“What an amazing idea, Princess. Now, why didn’t I think of that? Oh, yeah – because it’s _locked_. So, unless you have a way of magically opening it…”

Ten shifts slightly in his seat, boots lightly tap-tap-tapping on the floor before he forces them to stop. Then, when Murphy leans in close, the kid drops his gaze – only for a split second, but it was there. Licking his lips, Ten tries to school his face, but it’s pointless. Murphy already knows he’s hiding something.

He didn’t think he’d have to play his hand so soon, not after only just slipping the ace up his sleeve. Thought it would be best saved for something more important. More… urgent. However, if there is _any_ possibility that that office contains even a single cigarette, Murphy is not willing to risk leaving it behind.

One rough hand circling Ten’s slender wrist, thumb prodding into the soft, pale flesh, searching out the pulse point, Murphy drops his voice as he fixes blue eyes on startled grey. “Princess… If you have a way to open that door for me, then let me promise you this: once we get into that office, I’ll have the perfect reward for you.” Ten’s eyes flicker downward, tracing the man’s lips before drifting back up. Murphy smiles. “And trust me. You’ll _love_ it.”

Sliding his arm from the man’s tender grip, 10k didn’t even hesitate. Snatching up his bag, he quickly rifles through it, producing a beaten leather pouch. He’s at the door before Murphy can even pat himself on the back, watching as Ten pulls out a pick, fingers effortlessly nimble as they work.

Fuck, Ten is good with his hands. Really makes Murphy wonder what kind of life he had before the Apocalypse. Whether the young man’s own youth was as misspent as his own.

Murphy ambles his way into the office, not bothering to fight the _only slightly_ affectionate smile that wrests at his lips as Ten makes a beeline for the desk. Yanking out the drawers, the young man unleashes a stunning smile of his own as he triumphantly deposits his spoils onto the scratched-up desktop.

And what a beautiful sight it is to behold.

Ten had sniffed them out two _unopened_ packets of cigarettes.

“Shit, Princess, I could kiss you right now.”

Gracefully hopping up the perch on the edge of the desk, Ten looks up at Murphy, lips sharp, eyes dark. “That my reward?”

Placing a hand either side of Ten’s thighs, the man smirks down at him, hearing a stuttering of breath as he leans close. “Oh, no, pretty boy. I’ve got something much _sweeter_ in mind for you…”

And with that, he slides a hand slowly into his jacket pocket, Ten curiously eyeing the movement. Wrapping fingers around his surprise, Murphy stands tall, wishing to see his Princess’s reaction clearly. Then, suspense effectively built, he pulls out his hand, proudly displaying a packet of Oreos.

Well, ‘packet’ would be an overstatement. It’s more like a snack pack, only two cookies sealed inside the blue foil. But the moment he had spotted them in the vending machine, Murphy knew that he had to get a hold of them before anyone else saw. He’d even scraped his knuckles on the broken glass in his haste to grab them after shattering the display window with a chair.

Because he knows Ten loves Oreos. That he’d likely do anything to get his hands on one, never mind two. And that’s exactly what Murphy needs. A way to get their cute little sniper on board; a way to show Ten that Murphy is able to give him what he wants. If he helps the man out, first, of course.

But as he reaches out for them, 10k’s hand falters, falls short. “You’ve… been hiding food?”

“Oh, come on. It’s only something small. And if they never even knew it was here, how could they miss it? Think of it as our little secret.”

“We’re rationing. Shouldn’t hide food.”

Murphy snorts. “Like you’ve never stolen food before.”

Grey eyes drop low, Ten’s jaw tightening as he flits his fingers along the silk draped over his heart, seeking respite from his guilt. “I’m not a monster, Murphy. They needed it just as much. Always left them enough to survive.”

 _Well, don’t_ I _now feel like an asshole…_

“You didn’t eat any of that trail mix, right? Think of these Oreos as your dessert, then, and let someone else eat what’s left on the table. That way, you didn’t get anything extra. Nicer, sure – because who would actually _choose_ a handful of nuts and a few mouldy raisins – _but_ it still counts as a reward for opening that door for me.”

Ten tilts his head, weighing it all up, then slowly reaches out for the packet. Prying open the foil, he slides a cookie out before offering the second to Murphy.

 _He really is kind. Too good for a world like this, anyway, and_ definitely _too good for the likes of me…_

Murphy takes the Oreo, silently slipping it back into his pocket. He may need it at a later date, after all.

Idly leaning against the desk as he watches Ten finish up his reward, Murphy lights up a cigarette, drawing deep. Fuck, he’d missed this. The bitter taste, the heat sinking low, the gentle rush that follows shortly after. Looks like Ten has missed it, too, if the hungry look in his eyes is any indication.

“Enjoy your Oreo?”

“Not as much as I would a kiss…”

A chuckle bubbles up, gliding from Murphy’s lips as smoothly as the smoke. “Nice try, Princess, and props for the effort. Best I can do right now, though, is half of this.”

Ten shuffles along the desk, leaning into Murphy’s side as he accepts the cigarette before taking a long drag and tilting his head backwards, exposing the line of his throat as his eyes slip shut.

Moments like these are… odd. To Murphy, at least. He has no fucking clue by what metric the young man placed firmly at his side would measure normalcy. But, at times like this, when they have nothing to run from and nothing to kill; when they can relax and let their hair down; when Murphy can allow himself the pleasure of looking long and hard at Ten, really drinking him in… When the young man seems at peace, when he can sink into Murphy’s side, and when Murphy can almost feel a pang of jealousy at how brazenly a curl of smoke is allowed to trace along those delicate, pink lips…

Well, it’s never been easier to forget about the Apocalypse that rages around them. About the hell that they’ve been through. And about the evidence such a life has left engraved on their very souls, never mind their skin.

Their skin…

“Ten, about today. About your–”

“Listen up, people. Slight change of plan.”

Warren’s voice thunders in from the lobby, shattering this fanciful notion of his that a man with as numerous sins as Murphy could ever be permitted to find his own slice of paradise. With a scowl, he lurches up from the desk, shuffling across the office and leaning pointedly against the doorway, Ten ducking under his arm to peer attentively into the room.

“Doc, you’re gonna be sharing with Garnett tonight. Rambo, that means you’ve got Murphy.”

At that, Murphy doesn’t smile. He doesn’t need to. Because, without a single glance downwards to check, he knows that 10k has already grinned wide enough for them both.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, let me start off by apologising for the rather long wait - sorry.
> 
> I've always said that Feburary is the worst month. Found myself suddenly having no time due to everything from impromptu plumbing without being able to shut off the water, to something being in the air nine months ago that led me to have to make So Many Baby Blankets!
> 
> Then, it found a way to get worse. This took the form of me getting quite sick and ending up largely bedbound for a few weeks. Couldn't make it to my computer to type, so I wrote by hand, only to later remember that my hand wirting is an utter abomination. Seriously, it looks like someone dipped a three-legged spider in ink then flicked it at the paper...
> 
> Not being able to write was a curse I only overcame by deciding to make a doll of 10k. It went fine until it came time to choose which outfit to make for him - Season 2 is my favourite, but if I made a Season 3 outfit, I could make a Messiah Murphy to go along with him... Seriously, someone help me out with my indecisiveness...
> 
> Anyway, please let me know what you think of this chapter, and I'll get the final chapter of this part done as soon as I can.
> 
> P.S. Oh, heck. Would ya look at that. We're ONE HUNDRED THOUSAND words into this story and our boys haven't even kissed yet. I swear, it will happen. This IS a 10k/Murphy fic... If you've stuck around this long, thank you. I really mean that.
> 
> <3


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Murphy partakes in a little game of show and tell.
> 
> Then, he dreams of a dream.
> 
> Finally, 10k desides to take Addy's advice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: discussion of suicide

10k stalks into their bedroom, boots gliding with silent purpose over stained carpet as he paces the perimeter once before unceremoniously dumping his bag and rifle onto the bed. He takes his sweet time folding that silk scarf, though, before placing it reverently on top of a pillow, claiming the side of the bed closest to the door.

Stepping into their room, their door closing behind him and the lock clicking with finality, Murphy doesn’t hide his amusement as he watches the young man give the window a once-over. Because why would he bother? They’re alone in here, not a single other soul or pair of reproachful eyes to witness the fondness of the man’s smile.

Well, not _fondness_. It’s more a… A pleasure. Because they both know that Garnett and Warren have scoured this room from top to bottom, checking and double checking that it’s secure. After all, it’s where they decided to store such a precious cargo overnight. Murphy knows this. And he knows that Ten knows this. Yet the kid is performing his own security checks rather than blindly trusting the judgement of his dear leaders.

Such self-reliance in the face of orders could be useful to Murphy eventually. That is, if he ever manages to make himself exempt from it…

With a light grunt, 10k shoves at the bed, jerking it out of place before nodding to himself and dragging it back into the spot in which it had previously rested.

“We’re meant to sleep in that, kid, not play at interior designer.”

“Checking it’s not bolted down. Might need to barricade the door.”

_‘Self-reliance’? More like full-on paranoia…_

Apparently satisfied with the room, 10k drifts over the en suite bathroom, quickly disappearing inside.

“If you’d shoved the bed over to block the door, where would you sleep? The floor? The state of this carpet, you’d be more likely to catch something from that than a night with a Z…”

“The tub.”

Murphy turns from the hook where he’s hanging his jacket and just stares: at the open bathroom door; at the shadow flitting across the tiles; at the ridiculousness of what he just heard. “The tub?”

“Yeah. Plenty of blankets. Throw one in first.”

“Ten. Princess. Are you honestly telling me that you’ve used a bathtub to _sleep_ in… but not to _bathe_?”

“Yeah. Barricade the bedroom door, lock the bathroom. By the time someone breaks in here, I’m out the window.”

“…And that doesn’t seem a bit _excessive_ to you?”

“ _I’ve_ never been bitten.”

“Low blow, Ten. Low blow. I was strapped down to a damn table. Believe me: if I could’ve run, I would’ve…” The man gives pause, shifting his gaze to the mirror screwed to the back of the door, grimacing as he lifts his remaining layers to expose those bites. The ones he got when Merch’s damn experiments. The ones he got when that bitch had run away, leaving him there to die alone.

Alone… Murphy doesn’t want to be alone. Not right now. Not ever.

“You sleeping in there tonight, Princess?”

“No. Wanna sleep with you.”

Murphy’s eyes scour down his abdomen, raking at the gnarled flesh, the twisted scar tissue, the perverse proof of his inhumanity. _No idea why. I’m disgusting…_

The man can see 10k reflected in the mirror alongside himself. Can see the young man slip back into the room, footsteps as silent as ever. Can see how he glances absently Murphy’s way before faltering, turning to face him fully. Can see his slow approach, brows drawn low over curious grey eyes, tongue flickering out to lap at frowning lips.

When he finally comes to a stop, standing close enough behind Murphy that he’s barely visible in the mirror thanks to the man’s broader frame, 10k speaks, voice soft. Tentative.

“Can… Can I see you?”

And Murphy doesn’t deny him. _Cannot_ deny him. Not right now. Not in this moment.

He turns, arms rising as he tugs off his jumper, the t-shirt underneath sliding off with it.

“And can I… touch you?”

The man nods.

Gloves are slipped off, tucked into a pocket. Ten’s hands rise, fingertips trailing over Murphy’s shoulders, across his collarbones, trailing smoothly down his skin despite their roughness. Sure, Murphy’s own hands aren’t exactly soft themselves, but they’re the hands of a conman, shaped by a life of deception and manipulation rather than one of graft. And Ten’s? They have been hardened by a life on the hunt. At first, animals; later, zombies and humans, though their motivation stems predominantly from necessity rather than the greed that pushed Murphy onwards.

At first, those hands are hesitant in their attentions, their touch featherlight as they gingerly trace around a bite. Soon, however, they gain more confidence, their palms resting flat against flesh as they move lower still, gliding over ribs before dipping inwards towards the navel.

The bites, the scar tissue, it’s all still tender, a constant, aching reminder of what happened in that damn prison, of what will happen again as soon as he reaches California. But under those hands – _10k’s_ hands – the man doesn’t flinch away.

Because the aching stops.

Why?

Why does it stop?

And why are those hands capable of such a gentle caress?

These are 10k’s hands: the hands of a hunter. Hands that honed their craft on elk and deer – on fucking bears! – before moving on to Zs and even _humans_. These are hands that have been conditioned to end life. To kill.

So why?

Why are those hands capable of such a gentle caress?

And why are those hands choosing to show such a remarkable tenderness to _Murphy_?

As Ten’s fingers trace along the exposed jut of Murphy’s hip, the young man’s grey eyes still flit along his chest. Grey eyes filled with fascination. With wonderment. And not a single hint of revulsion.

And as his lips twitch, the smile that tugs at soft pink is warmer than the trails left across Murphy’s skin.

“They’re beautiful… _You’re_ beautiful…”

10k’s hands may not have made Murphy flinch, but those words certainly did. Pulling back from the young man’s reach, arms folding protectively across his front, shielding Ten from such a sight, the man sneers. “Don’t lie to me, _kid_. I know what I look like, and I know they are hideous. Don’t try to protect me from something I don’t need protecting from.”

And 10k frowns. He actually has the _audacity_ to fucking _frown_! His face is unreadable as his eyes search Murphy’s. Because of course it is. That little shit never makes it easy for him – or anyone else, for that matter – to even start to figure out what the fuck is bouncing around inside of that thick skull of his, often leading them all to reach the wrong conclusions. Take Garnett, for example. That man is being so hard on Murphy because this manipulative little twink has made him believe that he must protect him. That stupid soldier leapt to the laughably erroneous conclusion that Ten whored himself out for food, unable – or simply _unwilling_ – to see that his dear little ‘10k’ is just a horny teen who’d jump anything with both a dick _and_ a pulse.

_10k’s a whore, alright, just not the kind that Garnett thinks he is._

“Murphy. It’s not a lie. I _don’t_ lie.”

“Really? You don’t lie? That’s a pretty high horse to be riding, _kid_. So, why don’t you tell me then, oh Wise One, how having my stomach ripped open and some ribs gnawed out is ‘beautiful’ because from where I’m standing, I can’t see how it can be anything but! Unless you’ve got some freaky fucking fetish, which in all honesty, I wouldn’t put passed–”

“Because you’re alive.”

Those words. They were spoken so quietly, yet the certainty they carried made them deafening.

The vitriol dies on the man’s tongue.

“Murphy, one zombie bite will turn someone, and you have eight. Even if you weren’t immune, they’re really bad injuries. Should’ve killed you. But they didn’t. Your bites aren’t ugly _because they’re scars_.”

Ten pauses, his eyes drifting away as brows drop low, tongue flicking out across downturned lips as he searches desperately for his next words. “You could’ve died, Murphy. _Should’ve_ died. But you didn’t. You fought and you won. Now, you’ve lived long enough for your wounds to close. For them to heal. Become scars. They show that you were strong enough to keep living. A lot of others weren’t.”

Grey eyes come back to him with a plea, a hand lifting to trace over a bite high up on his chest. But the hand doesn’t touch him, instead hovering close. Close enough for Murphy to feel the heat. For that warmth to seep into his flesh. His nerves.

“Please, Murphy. Understand. These scars. You don’t have to be proud of them but please don’t be ashamed. They’re beautiful because they mean you survived.”

Those grey eyes remained fixed on blue, searching. For recognition. For consideration. For _understanding_. The hand drifts closer, too, finally landing on Murphy’s chest. Pressing over his heart. And that warmth, the one that the young man before him seems to naturally exude, sinks deeper still, spreads outwards, spreads upwards, to where it pools in the base of Murphy’s skull.

“…Are you ashamed of yours, Ten?”

The hand falls from Murphy’s heart, 10k lifting it over a shoulder to grasp his collars along the back of his neck. With a swift tug, both shirts are pulled up and off before the hand drops, the grey fabric falling from slender fingers, forgotten. “Should I be?”

10k stands before him, naked from the waist up save for the necklace draping down his chest, the pendant nestled comfortably between two annoyingly sculpted pecs. Murphy had seen him back at the river though from no where near this close. And, considering the company that they were in, he’d tried his best not to stare. Not that the others had been so courteous, eyes glued to Ten’s body without shame.

The light is dimmer here, the sun having already long began its descent, but now that Murphy is closer; now that they’re alone; now that Ten has openly invited his appraisal… Well, Murphy takes his time, eyes drifting lazily over the young man’s body.

The skin is pale, pulled taught over surprisingly tight muscles. From the toned biceps across to the swell of pecs and then down to the defined abs, he made for quite a spectacular canvas. A canvas upon which silver and red is streaked – often with thoughtlessness, often with precision – then presented for viewing with a brazen, almost provocative, immodesty, all culminating in a master narrative of life defiantly clung to.

10k has scars. Ones so different from Murphy’s own in form and yet, upon reflection, so similar in function. The brushes may have been different, but the strokes are the same. And while Murphy may not be able to see the beauty in his own creation, he can certainly see it in Ten’s.

“No. No, you shouldn’t.”

The only difference between them – the single element of their composition not mirrored – is the necklace nestled on the young man’s chest. Its cord of dark leather, perhaps the same used earlier in the crafting of Cassandra’s. Like that necklace, this one, too, is home to a feather, though it’s a milky, matte white opposed to glossy, iridescent black. The feather before him isn’t real, rather an intricate carving of bone, maybe antler, and it isn’t that of a crow, either. No, the carved pendant takes a much prouder form as it imperiously claims the well-developed musculature upon with it is enthroned.

A peacock feather.

Murphy smiles, the amusement too warm to bother trying to hide.

_A peacock_ really _doesn’t suit him._

But Murphy doesn’t dwell on it, his attention dragged along by his eyes as they slide down Ten’s remarkable body, settling on the spot that had drawn him in back at the river. At that time, due his rather inconvenient distance, he’d thought the blemish along 10k’s side, skirting along his lower ribs, to be a small scattering of moles. But up close? It seems like… no, it can’t be, can it…?

He lifts a hand, the fingertips tracing over smooth skin. Over the three faded black dots forming the points of a triangle. “You have a tattoo?”

The toned muscles beneath his fingers twitch, ticklish and shying away from his touch as the young man shrugs. “Dunno what it is. Always been there.”

_Not gonna get any answers there, then. Might as well move on to something equally as… interesting._

Fingers trail downwards, grazing along the top of Ten’s pants before circling around his hip. The skin, while soft, is dimpled, peppered with a wondrous assemblage of small, round scars. “And these are from…?”

“Hunting accident pre-Z. Birdshot, but just a glancing blow. Never took Uncle Jacque out again.”

“And rightly so! Shooting his own damn nephew… Bet it stung like hell.”

“Yeah, he felt bad. Wanted to take me to a clinic, get it treated. Pa said no, cleaned it himself.”

“…Dare I ask why?”

10k shrugs, a gentle movement. “Doctors can’t be trusted.”

Murphy snorts, shaking his head in disbelief. “And yet you trust Doc.”

“But… He’s not a real doctor, right?”

“Not a _real_ one, no. But don’t worry about it, Princess. There was this TV trope that, as soon as an apocalypse happens, any kindly old men who survive long enough will eventually be given that name. Never thought I’d see the day that it came true…”

His fingers are on the move again, fluttering in and up the centre of that tight abdomen, the muscles fascinating as they shift under his touch, eventually tracing the narrow length of another scar. This one is a silvery slash a few inches long, a hands width above the young man’s navel, stitch marks running along its side. “And this is…?”

“Knife. She wanted my rifle.”

Murphy doesn’t need to ask how that encounter ended. 10k’s lived long enough for this wound to heal, after all. “Did you stitch it yourself?”

At Ten’s nod, the man cannot help but grimace. Hammond had done a poor job trying to treat Murphy’s wounds, quickly giving up his futile attempts at adequately fixing him up, carelessly slapping on some gauze instead. It had hurt, but at least Murphy had had a swig or two of cheap booze to distract him, another’s hands to do the dirty work. He cannot begin to imagine what it must have been like for Ten, unanaesthetised and stone cold sober, trying to stitch together his own bleeding flesh, alone. And with the looks of some of these scars, with the age of them? Well, he must have been _young_.

With a calming exhale, Murphy’s hand continues its exploration, drifting higher up the soft skin where it gently cups the muscle of the young man’s well-formed chest. His wrist twists, thumb reaching out for the chosen scar, curved and sitting higher up the pectoral, his rough skin scraping over a dusky pink nipple as it climbs.

It never reaches its destination.

Because 10k’s breath hitches.

Blue eyes drift down, latching onto grey– well, formally grey. Because right now, during this bizarre little moment that they’ve found themselves trapped in, Ten’s pupils are blown, leaving his eyes appearing more black. His delicate pink lips are parted, too, letting shallow, panting breaths escape.

Arousal.

It’s arousal.

10k’s… _aroused._

But he can’t be, right? Murphy must be reading this all wrong. Because Ten’s just been playing, passing the time. All those suggestive comments, those brushes along his collar, and those cute little grins. The way Ten always watches over him, the way he leans into him when they are close, and the way he rests his head on Murphy’s shoulder, snoring away as they sleep peacefully in the truck bed…

_It’s… It’s real?_

Despite everything that he has seen of Murphy, even those ugly parts he keeps wrapped up and hidden out of sight, 10k’s interest is _genuine_?

Ten lifts his hands, now. Lifts them high and steady, placing one tenderly yet assertively over Murphy’s own, the other sliding onto the man’s shoulder. He’s rising up on his toes, closing the height gap between them. Lips part further, a hot breath slicing across Murphy’s throat as he leans in and–

And the door handle rattles.

The change is quick. Sudden. _Harsh._

Gone is the softness on 10k’s face, his lips curling in a snarl as a growl rumbles low in his throat. His eyes shift, too, marred by a flash of anger that leaves behind an after image of aggravation and annoyance. He pulls away, snatching his clothing from the floor and yanking the camo t-shirt back on as he stalks his way to the bed.

“10k? Murphy? You in there?”

Cassandra.

The young woman’s interference had broken whatever beguilement had overcome them, though in doing so it appears that she’s ignorantly waded knee deep into shit, dragging Murphy along with her.

His own grubby t-shirt now back in place, Murphy sighs, unlocking the door and allowing her in.

Cassandra steps boldly over their threshold, her soft smile sliding from her face as she spots 10k. The young man’s shoulders are hunched as he pulls weapon after weapon from his pockets, dumping them into a drawer in the bedside cabinet with an unnecessarily heavy hand.

“Ten? What’s wrong?”

He doesn’t answer her. Of course, he doesn’t. Because he’s too busy abusing the poor, defenceless furniture.

She shoots an accusatory glare Murphy’s way before taking a tentative step forward. Then a second. A third. “10k. 10k, stop it and look at me.”

And he does. Fists clenched tight; he turns slowly to face them. His head is still stooped low, but his eyes are sharp, sizing them up.

“Do you need some fresh air? We can go sit in the truck.”

Ten shake his head, not taking her up on her offer.

“Okay… Okay, then just don’t forget to breathe, yeah? You need to be easy on yourself.”

_‘Be easy on yourself’_?

Where has Murphy heard that before? It feels familiar, somehow… But whenever it was and whatever it means eludes him.

10k’s head lifts, a flash of something flitting over his face, but whether it’s regret or guilt or shame or even something else entirely, the man is unsure. But whatever it is, it’s only there for a second before the young man nods, making Cassandra relax beside Murphy.

They both stand there in that dim bedroom, watching in silence as 10k turns back to the drawers. He’s disarming again, his movements much lighter and more controlled than a few moments before, though whether that’s because he’s calmed down or due to the fact that the weapon he’s currently placing in the cabinet is a damn _gun,_ Murphy just can’t even bring himself to ponder.

With a sigh, Cassandra turns, fixing Murphy with a worried glance as she presses a bottle into his hands. His bottle, the steel one that 10k had once again stolen from him. Not entirely sure when the little shit managed it, though: the man has been making a point to never take his damn eyes off it while they ride in the truck!

“Here, he left this in the lobby.” Casting one last look towards 10k, the young man now seated on the bed and unlacing his boots, Cassandra takes slow, reluctant steps towards the door. “I’m just across the hall if you need me. Either of you.”

And then she’s gone, Murphy nudging the door shut behind her, locking it with a click.

The man runs a hand down his face, scratching at the stubble. Whatever that had been between them, that enchantment that drew them in close, Murphy’s glad that Cassandra had shattered it. Brought it to an abrupt, definite end. Before he’d done something rash; something he couldn’t take back.

It’s just…

He’s not sure that the anger that had burned bright in 10k’s eyes had been preferential to what it had replaced.

Murphy is silent as he shuffles across to the bed, Ten now huddled down under the blanket, blue clad toes wiggling where one foot pokes out the side. He’s still wearing those ridiculous bee socks, their colours starting to dull from wear. No one else had seen them, and the man hopes that no one ever will. Because this penchant for bright, garish socks is something that 10k has shared with him and him alone.

And Murphy intends for it to stay that way.

Now in bed himself, he lays there on his back, blanket pulled halfway over his chest, letting his eyes adjust. With the curtains now drawn shut, the room is dark. Well, so is the sky outside, but the thick fabric makes a rather valiant effort at blocking out the moonlight.

So, yeah. The room is dark.

And lonely.

It’s funny, really. There are only a scant few inches of mattress between them but, with everything that just happened… Those few inches? They might as well be the Appalachian trail.

And Murphy’s never been fit enough for hiking.

The silence bares down on him, thick and heavy and suffocating. They should talk about it, right? They should figure out what happened, what the other was thinking, and then clear the air. He should look Ten in the eye and be truthful for once in his damn life! He should let the young man down gently, tell him that he’s not interested, that he doesn’t think of him that way.

He should do that, right?

Because he… He doesn’t, right?

Murphy wants to speak. Not necessarily about _that_ , rather about anything. Because anything he could blurt out, anything that Ten can throw at him, it’ll be better than this damn silence! He curls onto his side, staring at the lump he knows is still awake next to him. Wrapping his arms tightly around himself, Murphy presses his hands into the aches. The ones that were soothed under 10k’s touch. The ones that mean he can never, even for a second, forget the pain of each and every bite.

The bites…

Murphy wants to speak, to break this lonely silence. His brain doesn’t know what to say, so he lets his mouth decide.

“Ten… What would you do if you got bitten?”

The lump next to him snorts, the sleepy sound accompanied by a hand creeping out from under the blankets, waving absently towards the cabinet before bundling the fabric up tighter.

The words that follow are muffled and sluggish.

“Browning. 9mm. Always loaded to make sure I can’t turn.”

Murphy wishes he’d been content with the silence.

Murphy has been awake for a while, now.

It’s not morning, not time for him to clamber out of bed, for Warren to bark her orders and force him back into that damn truck. And he hasn’t had his fill of sleep, either, as it wasn’t the gentle wakefulness of a night well rested that had roused him.

No. What woke him was 10k.

Sudden, jerky movements; shallow and quickened breaths; a few gasps, some moans, and even a single, somewhat pathetic sounding whimper. It seems that 10k is having a nightmare.

Murphy has been lying here in the dark, staring blankly up at the ceiling, doing everything within what little power he still had to just _ignore_ it. To hope that it would soon pass. Because then – _then!_ – he could go back to damn sleep! How often has he gotten to sleep in an actual _bed_ ‽ And now the damn kid is ruining it!

He should kick him. Kick him right in the shins. Bet that’ll wake the little shit up. Stop him from squirming around. Teach him a lesson, too: for waking Murphy up, making him worry…

And there’s a lot to be worried about, isn’t there? Especially with what Murphy had asked; what Ten had told him… The young man hadn’t even taken a second to ponder, answering right away, not even a hint of hesitation. Which means it’s something he’s thought about before, something he’s decided and come to terms with and moved on from.

Which is what is worrying him.

Ten had been talking about his own death. About _causing_ his own death. And he’d said it so… so _casually_ that Murphy can’t help but wonder… Has Ten already been in a situation, cornered and pinned down, thinking he’ll have to… to…

No.

Murphy can’t. He can’t think about this. Doesn’t _want_ to think about this. What he _wants_ is to go back to sleep. For Ten’s nightmare to end, for them both to curl up all safe and warm, and then go back to damn sleep!

Slowly, slowly, he moves, sliding his hand over to the young man. Careful not to startle him, Murphy starts at the elbow, tracing the pale skin as he moves upwards. With each stroke, his touch grows firmer, more confident, soon arriving at his desired destination. 10k’s hair, black and fluffy, slips effortlessly through his fingers as Murphy gently scrapes his fingers along the scalp beneath. It’s something that the man himself had found to be a comfort, had made him feel safe, though that was more than a lifetime ago.

He hopes that it’ll make 10k feel safe, too.

“Shush, Princess. It’s okay. You’re okay.” Murphy’s voice is low, little more than a mumble. His fingers keep moving, ruffling up a patch here or there before softly smoothing it back down.

As the seconds drag on, soon turning into minutes, Murphy keeps up his whispers. Because they’re working. The jerking movements slow; the breathing becomes deeper; the whimpers fade away.

Murphy smiles, watching as Ten’s face softens, before the man begins his retreat. But as his fingers slide from silky hair, as his arm pulls away to wrap back around himself, a hand follows it. 10k hooks a single finger around one of Murphy’s, tugging the man’s hand from his hip. And then, he feels their fingers entwine. Murphy tries to pull free; he really does. But it doesn’t work. That grip is too strong. So, as the man tugs his hand towards himself, he also tugs Ten.

That space between them, that gap that Murphy had deemed insurmountable: 10k crosses it in his sleep. All two thousand miles, a hike from Springer Mountain to Katahdin, traversed in a matter of heartbeats.

Curling up into the man’s front, 10k embraces his hand, hugging it against his chest, their fingers coiling into the blue silk clasped between them. And Murphy doesn’t fight it, a gentle sigh escaping him as he nuzzles into black hair, his eyes drifting closed, content.

“Don’t worry, Princess. I’m right here, and I ain’t going anywhere.”

It’s late and he’s sleepy: Murphy can let himself have this one. Can just lay here and enjoy Ten’s touch. His warmth. After all, he should be easy on himself, too, right?

_pastel pink_

_gentle blue_

_charcoal grey_

_flashing melding blending_

_grass and soil_

_sweat and musk_

_summer bloom_

_teasing laughing squeezing_

_bitter chocolate_

_sweet cream_

_smoke still lingering on lips_

_rustling leaves_

_bubbling stream_

_heart still beating strong_

_strong arms holding him close_

_face nuzzling into his neck_

_a voice he’s never heard before_

_a voice he’s longed to hear again_

_whispers on his skin_

_whispers in his ear_

_whispers of a name_

**_Tommy_ **

**_I love you_ **

Thirteen point eight billion years.

That’s how long ago this all started. That’s how long this plan has been in motion.

The Big Bang was the first step, bursting forth all matter, flinging it outwards along its trajectory, predetermined and unalterable. From there, the Universe was created: nebulas, galaxies, solar systems. And on one little rock, all blue and green, life sprung forth. Life that sired civilisation after civilisation, jubilant in both their foundation and their destruction.

The evolution of life on the planet locally known as Earth – single celled ooze; hairless apes; the living dead…

All that has happened, happened for the sole purpose of creating this one moment. This singular event. These circumstances.

Nuclear fusion deep in the core of a star; photons streaming across the vastness of space; light piercing through the atmosphere.

A life of crime; an Apocalypse; an experiment.

All of it – every single _nanosecond_ – happened… for _this_.

For the morning light to stream angelically through a motel window, teasing through the one innocent little slither of space between the curtains, and fall directly on Murphy’s damn face!

He wanted a lie in, lazing around in a warm bed next to a warm body on a warm morning. Instead, all he got was stabbed in his fucking eyes!

It’s not fair. It really isn’t. He’s not allowed anything nice.

Cracking open an eye, Murphy starts disentangling himself from… from 10k? Why is he…? Actually, never mind. He’d slept well and the guy’s kinda cute when he’s sleeping. Because he’s peaceful, no longer frowning. Coulda been worse, though. Coulda been Doc Murphy snuggled up with. Or Garnett…

Easing himself off the bed, Murphy shoves his feet into his sneakers, snatching his sweater and jacket from the hook on his way passed. The door creaking shut behind him, he pauses, taking one final look at the fragile serenity he’s leaving behind. And as the last remnants of his dream begin to slip away, Murphy is left only a single, fleeting question as proof of its existence.

_Who the fuck is ‘Tommy’…?_

~*~*~

“Here you go.”

Her sweet Charlie passes a dish of mushroom rice over to her as he relaxes back into his chair. Roberta accepts it with an affectionate smile, letting her fingers brush along his.

“Thanks.”

Last night was… good. No, better than good. It had been quite a while since she’d last been held like that. Been cherished. After slipping back into her own room, she’d lain awake for more time than she’d care to admit, just thinking. Mainly about how she shouldn’t have waited so long to do this. To spend the night with Charlie. She’d also thought about how she’d wished she’d worked up the courage to ask Addy for some of her condoms. Maybe next time, though. Because there _will_ be a next time, Roberta will make sure of it.

Glancing around, she takes in most of her family, all their smiling faces. Seems that staying at this motel for the night was the best decision for everyone, after all. Even _Murphy_ has been less of an asshole this morning, grabbing a portion of rice for 10k along with his own, chatting with Doc as they all wait for the boy to drag himself out of bed. The old guy had been happy to oblige, grabbing the last soda can from the vending machine and cracking it open with a smile.

Part of Roberta wishes that they could stay a little longer, even if just for one more night. It’s been peaceful, here, their very own private oasis. But they have a mission to complete, a convict to deliver. Humanity is depending on them. So, as soon as the kid is up and fed, they’ll have to move out.

Murphy lifts his head, scratching his neck and grinning towards the hallway door as it swings open. From beyond, in shambles 10k, his hair all mussed in a way that leaves him looking like a grumpy chick, his feathers all ruffled. The kid picks his way around the room, gloved hands rubbing at his eyes as he slumps into the seat next to Murphy.

And the man grins even wider.

“It’s about damn time you joined us, Princess. Was gonna send Doc to check on you, I was so worried!” Murphy tussles 10k’s hair, the kid swatting his hand away in annoyance.

_Wrong move, Rambo. If that asshole smells blood in the water…_

“Oh, what’s wrong with you, hmm? You can’t possibly still be tired, not with how soundlessly you slept!” The man snatches 10k’s mess tin from the table, brandishing it with glee. “Is it cuz you’re hungry? Well, luckily for you, I managed to nab a little something before these gluttons devoured it all. Now, say ‘thank you’, Princess.”

10k licks at his lips, eyeing the man for a moment before his face shifts, a sweet smile lighting a path across it, a hand demurely lifting to accept his food. “Thank you, daddy.”

Warren’s bowl slips from her fingers, her rice scattering across the floor.

Her food. She’d dropped her food, ruining it. In the middle of the damn Apocalypse. People starve to death every damn day out here and she’d just wasted food. Usually, such an action would bring down upon her the mother of all ass chewings.

But nothing.

Nada.

No reaction.

Because no one noticed.

_‘Da… Daddy?’_

At those words– No, _that_ word, Doc had choked on his soda, coughing it up over himself. Beside him is Cassandra, rubbing soothingly at the old guy’s back as she throws a grin Murphy’s way. A grin wider than is strictly necessary. Addy has a smirk of her own. though hers is directed at Mack, the blond fixing her with an admonishing frown.

Then, seated at Warren’s side, is Charlie. The man’s handsome face is stern, stony, fixing Murphy with a glare that the woman would have been proud of if it had been one of her own. The asshole he’s glaring at has gone deathly white, mouth flapping uselessly as he shakes his head, hands raised defensively between himself and the angry Sergeant.

And 10k? The kid’s just sitting amongst all this chaos that he’s caused, rice forgotten in hand as he glances around in confusion.

Wait. Confusion?

Does that mean he has no idea what it is he’s just said? What it means? What it _implies_ about his relationship with Murphy?

Because, if so, Warren must admit that that would _such_ a relief! The idea of 10k and Murphy having… having _that_ kind of relationship is just… just…

No, she can’t even think about it. Not him. Not _Murphy_. If Warren ever finds out that he’s laid a single grubby finger on that boy, harmed even one hair on his head, or coerced into bed… Well, once she gets her own hands on that _bastard_ , Garnett’s mission would end in failure.

Spotting her fallen food, 10k places his mess tin on the table, nudging the rice towards her with a soft smile, sliding the last packet of trail mix over with it. It’s his ration, likely the last he’ll have for a while, and yet he’s so quick to offer to share.

Her little Rambo really is such a sweet boy…

Mack sighs, rolling his eyes as he dumps his empty bowl on the table. “Told you it was a bad idea…”

“ _Excuse me_?” Warren’s voice is harsher than she’d intended, making Addy wince. “And just what did he mean by that?”

Now it’s the redhead’s turn to raise her hands placatingly, having drawn Garnett’s attention, too.

“Oh, come on! It was just a joke! How was I supposed to know he’d actually _say_ it?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Took a bit longer than I planned, but I hope you liked it.
> 
> As always, I'd love to hear what you think.
> 
> Take care, and I'll see ya next time.
> 
> <3


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